


when we're two, we are eternal

by taylorhamilton



Category: Kalank (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, Pet Names, Pining, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Suicide Attempt, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, for a second though tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorhamilton/pseuds/taylorhamilton
Summary: Zafar had every reason to believe that soulmates weren’t real, that they were a hoax, had no merit, no basis in reality, no proof that any of it was true.And yet…“You share a telepathic connection with your soulmate”
Relationships: Balraj Chaudhry/Bahaar Begum, Dev Chaudhry/Satya Chaudhry, Roop/Zafar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	when we're two, we are eternal

**Author's Note:**

> I am such a slut for soulmate AUs, and Bollywood seemed like the perfect vehicle for/excuse to write one. But really, the only reason this even exists is because of quarantine. You’re welcome. Maybe.
> 
> (Is this plot? Did I write actual plot? Did I write something other than fluff and porn?)
> 
> Title taken from “Lovely Tonight” by Joshua Radin. Gorgeous song, go listen to it now.
> 
> Friendly reminder if you’ve never read any of my other work, I am Caucasian and American. I do some research when I write Bollywood fics, but I sincerely apologize for any inaccuracies.
> 
> Rated M for some sorta but not really kinda graphic depictions of sex.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> **Bold = Zafar**
> 
> _Italics = Roop_

Roop is eight years old when she first hears a voice in her head that is not her own. He is angry, bitter, grumbling about something some woman said to him. Roop freezes, scanning the alleyways, the skies, the rooftops.

“Hello?!” she shouts into the air.

 **Hello?** comes the voice, clearer, nearer than she thought it would be. She’s only been playing in front of her house. Someone could have passed by. She runs down the sidewalk and stops when she reaches the edge of where her yard ends, as her father always told her when she was outside alone.

She cups her mouth with her hands. “HELLO?” she screams down the street. “WHO ARE YOU?”

 **I’m--** The voice doesn’t yell back in the same loud tone she does. He must not be as concerned with her as she is. What does concern her is that where his name should be is nothing but a jumble of nonsense, like when the radio doesn’t work right. She takes a few steps back.

“Where are you?!” she calls, suddenly scared. The voice cries back to her, but it’s more mess interspersed with words she understands. Now it sounds like a monster in the horror radio broadcasts her father won’t let her listen to, and now she understands why.

“PAPA!!” she screams, and runs into her house. Her father is in his study with a book, and Roop feels momentarily guilty for disturbing him, but the fear of an unknown assailant is more pronounced. Luckily, her father doesn’t seem bothered by her entrance, and scoops her into his lap as she climbs into it herself.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he says to her gently, and Roop suddenly can’t breathe, her face wet with tears before she can register that she started crying.

“There was--A boy--I heard him--He didn’t--I couldn’t--See him--Find him--He was angry--I thought--something bad--” Every few words is punctuated by heavy breaths, and she eventually starts coughing. Her father rubs her back, and she rests her head on his shoulder as her tears go silent and he calms her down.

“My dear, do you mean to tell me that a young boy was speaking to you in your head?”

She lifts her head, looking at her father as if he started speaking in a made up language.

“I heard a boy talking to me, but he didn’t sound like he was talking to me. I went down to the edge of the street to try to find him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t figure out where he was, but his voice was so clear, like he was right behind me.”

“So you did hear him in your head.”

Roop looks at her hands in her lap. Even in her eight year old brain, it makes sense.

“I guess so.” She shrugs, not wanting to admit her father is right.

“Did you ask him for his name?”

She nods. “It sounded like gibberish.”

The man laughs, full and proud. “My dear, I think you just made contact with your soulmate.”

Roop’s eyes widen, her hands fly to cover her mouth in surprise. “Really?!” She leaps down to the floor with the smoothness of an acrobat. She’d learned about soulmates in school. How every person in the world each had their own special person. Someone who was a perfect match for you, who was created especially for you. Someone who knows every little thing about you, someone who understands you, who doesn’t judge you, who will accept you completely. Who will help you be a better version of yourself. Who will be your best friend, your true love, perhaps even your spouse if you’re lucky. Who will be with you for life, and who will love you all your life.

Most of the rest of the lesson talked about history and technicalities, how soulmates can talk to each other in their brains. Roop perked up when her teacher told the class that most people first connected with their soulmates around this time. The rest of the boring, educational mumbo jumbo faded to the background as Roop dreamed of her own soulmate. She imagined someone tall, with dark hair, dark eyes. Strong hands, rough fingers from working all the time, like her father. Someone who would watch her with a dreamlike stare as she danced, as she ran around the block, enraptured with her beauty, her spirit. Someone who danced and ran with her until their legs gave out and they lied on the grass in the sun, just happy to be next to each other.

She spins around in her father’s study as all these daydreams come back to her. Because they weren’t daydreams anymore. Her soulmate was real, somewhere out in the world, and if she could find him, she could make these dreams reality.

“Papa, where is he? How do I find him? I tried to ask him, and there was nothing!”

Her father kneels down to her eye level. “Darling, it’s not that simple. Sometimes it’s not even a smart thing to search for him.”

“But we’re meant for each other. We’re supposed to make each other happy for our entire lives. If I find him now, I can have him for longer!”

He cupped her face with her large hand. “Your soulmate only comes to you when you’re ready.”

“I am ready!” she yells, stamping her foot. “I can hear him! I can talk to him! I haven’t been able to do that before today! So that means I must be ready for him! Right?”

Her father sighs. He places his hand on the small of her back, and when he tells her to sit on his big couch, she does.

“Roop,” he starts gently, sitting next to her. “Soulmates are matched by the divine fates, by a power greater than any of us. Not everyone makes their first connection with their soulmates at the same time. It’s when they are deemed ready. You are ready to connect. But meeting in person, discovering each other, identities, they’re another stage of life. The fates decide when you’re ready to discover your soulmate. Just because you’ve connected with them doesn’t mean you’re ready to discover them. You can’t force it to happen, my darling. It just has to happen.” He sighs, running a hand through her hair. “But you can talk to him. Get to know him. So that you grow to love him, to fall in love with him. And if you already love him, your discovery will be that much sweeter.”

Her father then proceeded to explain the semantics of it all that Roop had missed in school. How it wasn’t like mind reading--they couldn’t hear everything. It was like having a conversation, but only using your mind. He explained to her how to keep her thoughts separate from her conversations with her soulmate. It was difficult to figure out without a demonstration, but Roop always prided herself on being a fast learner.

So, a few days later, sitting cross-legged in the center of her bed, with the door closed just in case, she tries again.

 _Hello?_ She thinks the word, trying to direct it to him, even if she doesn’t know where he is. She still looks up at her ceiling, even though her father said she doesn’t have to, even though there’s no way her soulmate could be there.

 **Hello?** The voice is the same. Deeper than her own, but still high, the same as her male classmates. He must be around her age.

 _Hi._ She’s immediately embarrassed at having said essentially the same thing twice. _I’m sorry for scaring you a few days ago. I didn’t know who you were, but my papa explained, and now I think I understand, and I wanted to say hi. Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself! I remember not being able to hear your name, so you probably won’t be able to hear mine. But I’m your soulmate. God, you probably already know that from the fact that I’m talking to you in your head. You can only talk to one person in your head. So who else could I be? Anyway. Hello._

There’s silence for what feels like a long time. But when he comes back, his tone is dripping with anger and snark, like it was when Roop first heard him.

**Soulmates are fake. Nothing about this is genuine. There’s no guarantee that any of it results in good.**

_How can you say this is fake?!_ She’s up on her knees on the bed, practically exploding with anger. _I’m not crazy, and neither are you! How else could this be possible unless we’re connected somehow?_

**Oh, sure, we’re connected. We’ll come into each other’s lives at some point. That doesn’t mean we will stay there. That doesn’t mean the effect we have on each other will be for the better.**

_It doesn’t mean it won’t be! Why are you so negative about everything? The first time I heard you, you were grumbling all angry too. Why are you so angry all the time?_

**I don’t need to tell you. I don’t know you.**

_But I want to know you!_ And if he responds, she doesn’t hear it because she starts to cry for the second time this week. She sits alone in her sadness for what feels like hours until her father eventually finds her and cradles her close.

“He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, Papa. How can he possibly love me?”

“He doesn’t care about you yet because he doesn’t know you. Not wanting anything to do with you, well, that’s a tougher nut to crack.”

But Roop vows that she is going to try. Sometimes she can be patient, and this is going to be one of those times. So she waits a few days before she tries again.

_I understand that you probably don’t want anything to do with me. I understand that you don’t know me, so you don’t have to trust me or tell me anything. I’m not going to expect anything from you. I’m not going to expect...us...to be anything. What if I started by being your friend? Would that be okay?_

He doesn’t respond. The silence is deafening, and Roop falls onto her bed on her stomach in defeat.

It’s hours later, when she’s putting her jewelry away in her trinket boxes that he comes back to her.

**Okay.**

She backs away from her dresser.

_Okay?_

**Okay. I’ll be your friend.**

And she can’t stop herself from jumping up and down, clapping her hands, even cheering a bit. She doesn’t care if he hears it, and he must have, because he laughs, and the sound sends an unexpected pulse to her stomach.

They make casual conversation, as much as they can to avoid the painful static in their heads. Their ages. Favorite colors. Favorite holidays. Her soulmate is twelve, four years older than her. His favorite colors are black and white. And his favorite holiday is Holi, despite being Muslim. A little ironic, but Roop makes a note of it anyway.

As the months pass, nearly turning into years, her soulmate opens up. They talk almost every day, right before they go to sleep, and Roop can hear the smile in his voice as he talks to her. Her father starts to get mad because she’s staying up all night talking to her soulmate instead of sleeping, but Roop doesn’t care. She can deal with a bit of drowsiness if it means learning more about the one she loves.

It hits her like a heavy brick when she realizes she loves him. And she knows this is what it is. If she told anyone, they would say she’s too young, she’s known her soulmate barely any time at all, she doesn’t even know what he looks like, she can’t possibly love him. But then how could she explain the flutter in her chest whenever they talk? The plummet in her stomach when, as his voice begins to change, it deepens and turns unintentionally husky? The way she practically sways on the spot when she thinks of him, imagines what he looks like, what they could become together?

Even if it is juvenile, Roop knows, in the deepest parts of her heart, that she loves him. That it’s real and lasting.

But she also knows she can’t tell him. It still feels new, this warmer side of him. And she can’t lose it. She can’t lose him. So she keeps it to herself.

But one night, long after Roop should have fallen asleep, he keeps talking. She wraps herself in her blankets and closes her eyes, hoping to be lulled to sleep by his honey voice. But her face scrunches as he opens his heart, bares his soul. He tells her why he brushed her off when they first connected. Why his edges are so rough. Why he’s softened around her.

And maybe this is his weird, crooked way of telling her he feels the same way she does about him. 

_I love you._

She doesn’t bother to censor herself or keep it from him. She is hazy with sleep. And if he is going to be honest with her, he deserves her honesty in return. But she begins to tense when it takes him longer than usual to respond.

**What did you say?**

_You heard me. I love you. I think it’s the “in love” kind. I thought you should know._

With how tired she is, she’s surprised her thoughts are so firm. The tension builds when it takes him even longer to respond to this. When he does, his voice is considerably deeper, breathy, as if the words are coming from some hidden part of him.

**I love you too. Maybe like the “in love” kind.**

Roop turns her face into her pillow and starts to softly cry. It’s not soft enough to keep from him.

**Did I say something wrong?**

She wipes her face. _No. You said the exact right thing._

* * *

The arrival of your soulmate is always a joyous occasion in a person’s life, but it doesn’t necessarily have to coincide with another life-altering event. Most people first connect with their soulmate’s, the other voice in their head, when they’re fairly young, around Roop’s age, maybe older. Young enough to carry your soulmate with you as a partner throughout your life, while old enough to understand what this voice in your head means, who it is, the significance of them, and how to use this power.

But the universe works in mysterious ways, always seeming to conspire against people, and yet always laying out a perfect plan. In the beginning, when soulmates first make their connection, the mental maps to each other do not allow the use of proper names. Not only each other’s first and last name, but the names of friends, family, streets, cities, all these identifiers to point a person further in the direction of their soulmate. “It has to happen naturally,” the religious leaders always say. “Organically. Your soulmate comes to you in the mental plane only when the time is right. The same is true in the physical plane.” So, to compensate, it’s common for people to give their soulmates nicknames. Pet names, words of affection aren’t barred from the mental connection.

Roop calls her soulmate every version of Jaan she could think of. Jaanu. Jaan-e-jaan. Jaaneman. Even silly ones that she makes up, Jaana, Jaano, Juno. He is not as affectionate for what feels like months, maybe years. She eventually hears it, though. A pet name. Spewed out in agitation, sure, but it was something.

**Pyaara.**

She immediately hates it. It sounds like he is talking about a puppy, or even worse, a little baby girl in a sparkly pink dress. So cute, so delicate, so small. That wasn’t what she was. That wasn’t what she wanted to be to him. When she tells him this, his laughter rang out so strong, she felt it in her chest, and he sticks with it, taunting her with it for a long time. It gets to a point where she almost refuses to talk to him. And then he comes back to her with a gentle “Premika”, and she is his all over again.

When they reach their teens, and begin to understand the gravity of what a soulmate truly means, he graduates to calling her “Mera pyaar”, “My love”, which fills her entire being with peace every time his deep voice rang out. And he becomes playful. He continues to call her Premika because it makes her smile. And his favorite of hers is Juno. _Her_ Juno. She can practically hear him fighting a smile whenever he responds to the nickname.

The problems come as Roop grows up. As she begins to understand society, culture, and expectations make themselves known. How her soulmate’s initial attitude towards the concept might have had some truth to it. How love can’t give you everything, can’t fix everything, can’t be the answer to everything.

There is still the matter of her station, of her father’s station, his poorly paid occupation, how it affects her lifestyle, her family, her prospects, her dowry. Despite it all, Roop’s father was passionate about giving her an education. Not the best one money could buy, but enough for Roop to grow into not just a beautiful one, but an informed one, who has opinions that are rarely influenced by outsiders. She is against the dowry system. And she believes in love, in soulmates, in her soulmate. 

Opinions, unfortunately, can’t create an outcome. They can’t help her father’s income grow steady. They can’t protect her younger sisters, can’t guarantee a good life. They can’t prevent Roop from doing things she’d rather not, like sending matrimonial ads and considering proposals.

Her father can’t afford dowry for all three children. As the eldest, as the wisest, Roop knows it’s her responsibility to strive to marry up, secure a higher position to protect her family. It’s the right thing to do. But her stubborn heart fights back, refusing to break the promise she made to herself years ago that she will marry one person in her life--her soulmate. Even considering these proposals is going against her word. It feels like she’s cheating on him.

So she turns each interaction into a search party.

She would play a game with every man she met. Without warning, she would tell them she was thinking of a number and make them guess. For added effect, she would scrunch up her face, fold her lips into her mouth, squeeze her eyes tight. It was always something tricky, too, not easily guessable. A decimal. A large number. Some played along. Some were confused and a little scared, and said something like “ten” just to make her quiet. No one ever guessed it. Sometimes her soulmate would call to her, asking what all these numbers were for, what they meant. And she would laugh with a small hint of sadness in the back of her throat as she sends her suitor out on rejection. She had ruled out someone else who couldn’t be him, but she was nowhere closer to discovering who he was.

But her stubborn heart, that thing in her chest, that hopeless romantic in her refuses to give up, to lose hope. It refuses to give up on her Juno, on the person somewhere on Earth who is meant for her, who will give her everything, who is hers and hers only.

It’s just a matter of finding him.

* * *

Not much changes in the connection between soulmates when they eventually discover each other. Proper names do become part of their lingo, this block is lifted, but only after they consummate their union. Because of this, society views the relationship between sex and marriage in a wide variety of ways. The ideal, what’s considered a conventional and acceptable way to go about the courtship of soulmates is that they wait for each other, with no sexual or romantic contact, or as little as possible, with the opposite sex until they meet. So when two soulmates do eventually discover each other, they are almost immediately married, joining together physically after.

But across cities, across nations, marriage’s main purpose is economic, political, only for societal gain. The mental connection, the spiritual, emotional, romantic one has been flourishing between soulmates for years, so that by the time they meet, they already know each other inside and out. The only connection left to complete is the physical one. Everything else has been taken care of. Because of this, there is a hefty amount of the population who, while they will still marry because of societal expectation, do not hesitate to have sex with their soulmate before they marry to forge their bond.

This causes problems for the people who doubt the existence of soulmates forthright. They are not inherently bad people, but are looked down upon because of their disdain for what is true, their refusal to acknowledge it, and their purposeful actions to disrupt society.

In some corners of the world, there are worse people.

In 1916, a man found his soulmate. She was graceful, resourceful, enigmatic. When she sang, the world stopped turning. He had been doubtful, closed off his entire life, but he was a believer when she sang.

While filled with emotions, their union was physical as well. In secret corners of passageways, on blankets hastily spread on the floor, anywhere they could, whenever they had a moment. It was passionate, it was fulfilling, it was a dream too hazy and magical to be real.

It was a wildfire that met a thunderstorm.

The man is the heir to the only publishing house in town, the most important in the region. He is rich, powerful, influential. The woman is a courtesan, the owner of a brothel, rich in her own right, but with a lower status than the bugs in the dirt. Even with the connection of soulmates, a woman like her could only bring shame to a couple, to a family.

So, when one of their many acts produces a child, a boy with hair as dark as hers but eyes that are big and a bright hazel like his, the man turns away, shutting himself off, keeping his distance from her, shoving her out, mind, body, and soul. He berates her career, her livelihood, her person, her entire being, until she can barely muster enough emotional strength to throw him out herself. She didn’t have to--he left on his own. He married someone who was not his soulmate, but someone who was as rich and powerful as him, someone with class, standing, respect, someone who had everything she didn’t. And they had a son, too. It was the sickest twist of fate. But despite all this, she harbored love for him. Because that’s what soulmates did. Loved each other despite it all.

This is what Zafar knows of his father.

Despite his mother’s warmth and fondness when speaking of him, Zafar hates him. Despite his mother’s unconditional love, care, and concern for her son, there is always a piece of Zafar that thought his mother resented him, cringed when she saw him for being half of someone who abandoned her. This piece of him grows as he gets older, and he begins to distance himself from his mother, not seeking out her attention and care as often, learning to care for himself.

What also develops as Zafar grows up is his reputation, the spread of the story, how Zafar’s father deserted his own soulmate, deserted his own son, the outcome of what is supposed to be pure love. And with the story spreads the suspicion, as fast and destructive as a plague. What was so terrible about the madam, Bahaar Begum, that her own soulmate would betray her? Was it her profession? Her status? Her sensuality? Her lack of it? What about her son? Could that have been it? Did he abandon the son? Was the son a terror? An animal? Was he outspoken, selfish, rude, aggressive, arrogant, impulsive, stubborn, temperamental, crude? Was he cursed? Something else so vile there isn’t a name for it?

Zafar learns what it means when people stare at him in the street, when their eyes narrow and their lips curled. Or when their eyes widen and they turn to their companion with pointing fingers, or with a hand covering their mouth as they whisper in ears. Zafar knows how they see him, how they speak about him, what they think of him. Zafar also knows he isn’t any of these things.

But he could be if he wanted to. He could be if they wanted him to.

When aunties in the street sneer at him, he sneers right back. When they keep their talks secret, he saunters up to them, looks them in the eye, and confronts them. He becomes loud, obnoxious, even a bit mean. He instigates fights, climbs trees, jumps across roofs, steals fruit, breaks bottles in the name of a good time. He pushes friends away, pushes his mother away, resents her, resents God and Allah and the fates for making him this way when the divine knew that this wasn’t it.

He resents the girl who comes into his head as forceful and radiant as a single ray of sun piercing a sky of dark clouds.

He doesn’t hate her, but he hates what she represents. Faith. Optimism. A chance for him to be happy. So he does what he’s done for years. Close himself off. Snap at her. Do everything he can to make it clear that he’s rejecting her without actually saying it.

But when he hears her start to cry, his heart twists so much that it travels to his gut, and he shuts his brain off from her, feeling himself getting sick.

He hates himself. And not in this brooding, tragic sense that he’s created for himself. He is an awful person. Scum. No better than his own father. He wants to immediately call back to her, apologize, make her stop. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t. The only reason he doesn’t reach out to her himself is because he’s not sure if it’ll work. If she’ll want to hear him.

So when she returns to him a few days later, it feels like a blessing. Like a second chance. She suggests friendship. And there’s a fraction of a second where he is disappointed that she backtracked from the idea of romance. But he understands. His reaction definitely seemed like he didn’t want romance, and when you look at it all objectively, it is a little odd to pursue romance with someone you barely know, who you’ve never met, don’t even know what they look like.

A friend, though. Zafar’s never had a friend before.

And his soulmate is an incredible friend, the best Zafar could ever dream up for himself. She is equal parts sweet and stubborn, carefree and mischievous. She is poor, but she is educated, and Zafar very quickly starts to look forward to the ends of his days when he can lie down in the dark and do nothing but talk to her. He always has more lively stories from the streets--she never thinks her happenings in the classroom are interesting. What she doesn’t realize is that Zafar could listen to talk about anything for hours. But he gives in, does most of the talking. There are moments, though, when a classmate has said something mean, or her teacher has said something controversial, and she is off like a runaway train, spewing curses and talking so fast that Zafar can’t get a single word in. He can only lie back and laugh.

It’s no wonder he falls in love with her.

He doesn’t want to admit it to himself, much less to her. But the smile that lights up his face whenever he thinks of her, whenever they’re in their safe space in his head together, the way his heart beats faster and his entire body heats up whenever someone merely mentions anything about soulmates. There’s nothing else this could possibly be.

So when she is the one to say it first, quiet and alone in the dark, Zafar doesn’t believe it, doesn’t want to let himself believe it. It makes sense, though. The timing. In this darkness, Zafar finally has completely let himself go to her. He divulges the story of his family, his father, his rough life in the streets of Hira Mandi. He hates using it as an excuse of why he was so cruel to her at the beginning of their relationship, but he feels he owes her an explanation, and this is the truth. And he is honest beyond the end of the story. He tells her how much he loves to talk to her. How much he thinks of her. How much he cares for her. How wonderful she is, how wonderful she is to him, for him.

It feels like a confession. A declaration without saying the words.

Luckily, she understands, and gives it words for him.

_I love you._

He is so young. She is so young. There is no way any of this is plausible, logical. Zafar shouldn’t be feeling so much. Those words shouldn’t make his stomach twist, his heart clench, his body ache for her touch, for her to be with him, wrapped around him like she is supposed to be.

This softness could easily be Zafar’s undoing. But wouldn’t it be the sweetest way to go?

**I love you too.**

Saying it, admitting it to himself, to her, brings instant peace, but it’s thwarted when he hears her cry. The urge to keep her close to him grows exponentially, and he sits up in a panic.

**Did I say something wrong?**

Her voice is wet in her response. _No. You said the exact right thing._ And Zafar is eased, content, a smile sneaking its way onto his face.

* * *

She really does soften him as the years pass. She comes up with sweet, silly nicknames which he teases her for at first, but he can’t deny the way they make his heart dance in his chest. Jaan. Juno. It made him feel almost as if, for the first time in his life, he belongs somewhere.

He has never been good at expressing affection though, and his first attempts seem to fall flat. So he reverts back to his childlike nature of taunting her, regretting when, after weeks of this, she closes herself off from him. So he decides on “Premika”, “Mera pyaar” and “My love” as he gets older, and it makes him feel strangely mature and dignified. But it also makes him feel romantic in a way he never thought he could be. 

It makes him feel like his true self.

Despite her gentleness, despite the soothing salve she is to his soul, despite the magnitude of what he feels for her, she is not the cure for his condition. The kindness she shows towards him doesn’t spread to anyone else in Hira Mandi. It doesn’t make anyone else look at him the same way. He is still dirty, rotten, vile in their eyes.

But maybe not to everyone.

Despite it all, Zafar is still a man. A man who becomes so desperate for his soulmate’s touch that he seeks to mimic it, to pretend he has it in any woman he can find. Any woman who is willing. When he starts to go out and chase this, there is a twinge of something like regret in his heart. When the woman underneath him writhes and moans and cries out, Zafar, for a moment, hears his soulmate’s voice, imagines that it’s her under him, making these sensual sounds, saying such teasing things. He almost calls the whole thing off.

But there are parts of him, ugly parts that still dominate. The part that laughs in the face of his neighbors and seeks to become everything they think he is. The part that is so desperate for human contact, he will do whatever he can to get it. And for a time, these parts become him, overshadowing any light in his heart.

He is still hers, by every means. He still loves her. But there is a deep, unexplainable part of him that needs this. That needs to be this way. So as he does these things with these nameless women, he quickly learns to shut his brain off, leave his own body as he completes the act. He is able to separate the person he is when he’s with these women from the person he is when he’s with his soulmate. The person everyone believes he is versus the person he really is.

It doesn’t take very long for those two people to become one. For any hints of remorse to disappear. For his charming, devilish attitude to slip into his conversations with his soulmate. For his sweetness to become a tactic to lure a woman into bed. For the awful things to be at the forefront, and for him to consider that they’re not so awful.

Zafar is twenty five years old when he realizes he is handsome. When, instead of a woman’s eyes widening and her fingers reaching to pinch his cheeks, her eyes would hood, her fingers reaching out to touch his tanned skin, curling towards herself, beckoning him forward. And Zafar would go, giving into her, giving her his entire body, without a hint of guilt in his heart.

Until Lajjo, at least.

In all his years of this, Zafar spends more nights with Lajjo than anyone. Physically, she is everything he could ask for in a woman--long hair, light skin, small but plump lips, agile, flexible. But she always becomes a chatterbox when the deed is done, as if her incessant talking makes up for her lack of a real personality. Even worse, she grows attached to Zafar, informing him of the simple ongoings of her life, smiling, blushing, tapping him on the nose when she showers him in words of affection. She’s infatuated with him--he can practically smell it on her. The most he can even think to feel for her is lust, and it was starting to feel like an afterthought.

His feelings finally become clear when, without emphasis, in the middle of one of her long ramblings about nothing, she calls him “Meri Jaan.”

So much hits him all at once, like a thousand steel weights dropping. What was he doing? Who was this person in his bed? Why did he let her here? Why did she deserve to be here? Why was he sharing a bed with anyone but the one who was made for him? Why did he do this for long? Why did he not realize the impact of what he was doing until it became the way he was defined? How did he let it reach this point?

“I think you need to go.” He doesn’t look at her when he speaks. His voice rumbles low in his chest, dangerous, a warning.

“What?” She sits up, covering her chest with the blanket. “Meri Jaan? Why?” 

Zafar shuts his eyes. “Go.” He’s seething now, fisting the blanket hard so he won’t throw her out of the room himself. She dresses, and he doesn’t move, barely even breathes until he hears the door close. He sighs through his nose, rubbing his eyes with the bases of his palms.

 **I’m a terrible person.** He doesn’t know why he suddenly needs to tell her this, why he even feels this extreme guilt in the first place. But he knows it will eat at him if he doesn’t.

 _You’re not_. Her reply is instant, as if she’s spent the night waiting for him. Zafar sags into the mattress even further.

**I am.**

_What brought this on?_

**I’ve been unfaithful.**

_No one’s expecting you to be faithful. We haven’t discovered each other yet._

**But you’ve been, haven’t you? You probably haven’t even so much as looked at another man, let alone thought about romancing one.**

_I haven’t. And part of it is my choice. But part of it is also because there are so few strong, kind, handsome men around here._

**But if there were, you wouldn’t even consider it. I know. That’s not you.**

_I wouldn’t. None of them are as strong, kind, and handsome as you._

The laugh that escapes Zafar could probably be mistaken for him choking. **You don’t know what I look like.**

 _There’s a part of me that really believes you’re the most handsome man on the planet._ She caps it off with a childish giggle that feels like a knife twisting in Zafar’s chest. He presses his hands to his eyes again.

**This is what I mean. I’m not...like this. Like when I was young. Not as much. I’m not sweet and charming. I am flirtatious, but my end goal is one night of passion, not marriage, not discovery. I haven’t gone out with the sole purpose of looking for you.**

_Neither have I. I have never asked you to. And I have never expected you to act a certain way around me, to be anything besides who you are._

**You deserve better. You deserve someone who chooses not to acknowledge any other woman until you’re in his life. You deserve someone who will pepper you with compliments, drown you in affection and love.**

_I think you’ve done a really good job at the second one, at least._

Zafar rolls onto his side. **I want to be good for you. But I don’t know if I can.**

_You already have been. I promise you, you have made me calm, content, you have made me smile every time we connect. I choose not to be with anyone else because I’m not interested in being with anyone else. I only want you. And you may not feel the same way, which I can’t do anything about._

Zafar can swear he feels his heart crack. **That’s not true. I want you.**

_Only me?_

Zafar sighs. **In my heart, yes. My body disagrees. It’s complicated.**

She’s quiet. So Zafar lets his mind flow.

**The women I’m with satisfy my body, this primal need for sex, for physical contact. The one thing I can’t get from you yet. And I’m not saying this as an excuse, Premika, I’m saying that everything else, my heart, my mind, my soul, is filled up with you. I don’t bare my heart, my mind, my soul to these women who I bare my body to. Only you. The women I’m with see a suave, brazen, indecent man, which is the truth. You know this. But what they don’t see is the softer side, the gentle one, sweet, warm, affectionate. The way I am with you. These women don’t see the full truth of me, they don’t see both sides of the coin. Only you do.**

_Can you give me this then?_ She sounds almost pained, and Zafar immediately doubts if telling her the truth was the right thing. _I am not with you. I cannot police your actions. I wouldn’t even if we were together for real. I cannot change you. I will not try. As your soulmate, I shouldn’t. I can promise to love you despite your flaws, your mistakes, your poor decisions. But can you promise me that, when we do eventually find each other, this will all stop? That I will be your one and only, mind, heart, soul, and body?_

 **I promise.** He sits up so fast he starts to see stars in his eyes. **I swear. My love, you already hold so much of me, claiming my body for yourself is the smallest of stepping stones.**

Her gentle laughter washes over him, a cool breeze in the dry summer heat. _I love you, Juno._

**I love you, too. For everything you are.**

Zafar had every reason to believe that soulmates weren’t real, that they were a hoax, had no merit, no basis in reality, no proof that any of it was true.

And yet the voice in his head is soothing like music. And yet he feels instant happiness, serenity, clarity when she is speaking to him. And yet he makes a vow to himself that he will try to be better, if not for himself, for her.

He loves her. Plain and simple. Undeniable. Unavoidable. He will not let her be his undoing. She will be his rebirth.

* * *

Roop’s stubbornness doesn’t evade as she becomes an adult. She is a dutiful, respectful woman. But under her soulmate’s influence, under the drug that is his love, she retains her playful side, her carefree, naughtier side. This side of herself chases kites with her younger sisters and the other young women in their town. This side of herself drapes herself in gold jewels and a brown lehenga for no reason other than to please herself. This side of her feels no shame in wearing a matching top with red trimming, short enough to expose her waist, low enough to bare much of her collarbone. This side of her wears a red dupatta over her shoulder for style, but it does little to cover her skin. This side of her runs like the wind, leaps across roofs, dances in the street, barely blinks an eye when her skirt gets caught in a loose piece of wood on the ground. This side of her sings high and loud, echoing off the walls, passerbys leaning out their windows to observe this mad girl. With her soulmate’s love in her pocket, Roop is a glorious golden sunrise, a ferocious typhoon, a whirlwind. Full of wild energy that dissipates when she comes home with her sisters to find her father hosting a guest.

Satya Chaudhry is a friend of the family. A childhood acquaintance. Roop remembers a flash of time when they were inseparable, as babies, before either of them connected with their soulmates. It didn’t last very long at all--Satya moved away, her family rose in prominence, they grew apart, grew up. Their parents had the occasional letter correspondence, and Roop remembers hearing the news that Satya had not only discovered her soulmate, a man named Dev who runs a newspaper, but married him. Roop’s family didn’t attend the wedding, but sent whatever money they could scrape together to call a wedding gift. But they haven’t seen each other since they were kids. To reach out unexpectedly, without any prior means of contact could only mean something serious was going on.

Roop’s father and Satya sit her down, and they drop bombshell after bombshell on her. Satya is dying. Cancer. She has one year left. Dev will be destroyed when she’s gone. So she comes to seek companionship for her soulmate. Someone to care for him and look out for him when she’s gone. And in return, she will help Roop’s family pay off their debts. Help her sisters in their prospects. It’s a good thing, Satya promises.

A million thoughts running through her head come to a sudden halt. The only one she can get out in words is a strained “You’re asking me to marry your soulmate.”

The way Satya’s jaw clenches for half a second tells Roop everything she needs to know.

“ _Your_ soulmate.” All her thoughts rush back, and it takes all of Roop’s strength not to fling them all at her. “Marrying _your_ soulmate, losing the chance to be with _mine_ , is the best decision for _everyone_ in my family.”

“Roop, there’s no need to be cross,” her father warns.

“I’m just failing to see the logic in this. You are asking me to abandon my soulmate, the one person who knows every corner of my mind and my heart and chooses to love me despite everything that’s there. You’re asking me to forget about him to play maid to a man I only know from a single letter your father wrote years ago in haste.” Her words are ice cold, stark contrast to the burning anger she hides in her chest, tries to keep from her face.

“That’s not what I’m asking at all--” Satya starts, but Roop cuts her off.

“That’s exactly what you’re asking of me. You get to have your chance at love, and you think you can take away mine. I’m telling you, you can’t. You won’t.” And then Roop is up, flying out of the room as quickly as she flew in.

She sails up to the roof, willing the hot sun to burn up her anger, shriveling it so she can toss its ashes away and not have to deal with them. She doesn’t know how long she tries this, how long she’s alone before her father comes up next to her, silent as the breeze.

“Your connection with your soulmate doesn’t sever if you marry someone else,” he says softly.

“But my hopes for a future with him, a life with him will,” she responds, not looking at him.

“The love you have for him won’t.”

“My love doesn’t mean anything if I can’t be with him fully and completely.”

Her father rubs his mouth. “Roop, I need to be frank with you about this. You haven’t met your soulmate yet.”

“I haven’t met Dev Chaudhry either. But I know my soulmate. Entirely. I know nothing about Dev.”

“He could be warm and loving and kind to you. You don’t know that. He must be if Satya loves him so much, if she’s willing to do this.”

“She loves him because he was made for her. Because it was written in the stars that they would find each other.”

“And you know I want the same for you, sweetheart. But the reality is, life isn’t always about dreams and wishes and waiting for something to happen to you. It’s about opportunities, making the most of them and seizing them when they arrive at your doorstep.”

“Then why did you raise me as a romantic?” She finally raises her voice and turns to face her father. “So I could grow up to be a wide-eyed fool, lovesick, blissfully ignorant?”

“I raised you on romance to give you hope,” he responds firmly. “To give you something and someone to believe in. But I also sought out your education so you did not become a fool, so you _were_ aware of the happenings in our society. So you would understand who we are in this world, what we can do, what we can’t. My music and your love can’t keep this family stable. Your marriage to a well-off man, even if you care less for him than dirt on your shoes, can. I gave you an education so you would understand that, as the eldest, even with choice and free will, this is your duty. But I filled your heart with love so that even if your reality turns grim, you don’t lose your optimism, your spirit that makes you so uniquely you. So you don’t lose the essence of why your soulmate fell in love with you.”

“You cannot try to console me with talks of my soulmate and his love, and then take him away from me in the next breath. It’s not right. And don’t I deserve to keep something for myself, have something of my own, not because it’s my duty but because it’s rightfully mine? Don’t I get a chance? Don’t I get a love that can flourish, that I can keep close to me not as a fond memory of a simpler time, but as a constant reassurance that I have something permanent? Don’t I deserve that?”

When her father doesn’t respond, Roop is off again, this time running inside the house, into her bedroom, and immediately slams the door behind her like a spoiled child. And maybe she is acting like one. But getting everything out in the open doesn’t stop her thoughts from swimming in circles, spinning out of control. It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s not what she wants. What she deserves. It’s not happening.

Roop is surprised at herself when, after she settles into her isolation, she immediately breaks down in tears.

Her soulmate’s gentle call of **My love?** is almost immediate.

She knows why she’s suddenly like this, but her thoughts are too much, too disorganized for anyone to make sense of, even if her soulmate can hear them.

**My love, please calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.**

Roop takes in a calming but shaky breath. Hastily wipes her eyes. Drags herself over to her bed and sits. She starts to shake with rage, with hate, with fear at the feeling of this intense negativity towards the people she’s supposed to care about. Her brain is still running, tripping on its own two feet in haste, so it’s just easier to speak out loud, to talk to no one, to the voice in her head, to the one she loves.

“They’re getting me married.”

**Who is?**

“My father. My family. Satya.” He won’t hear the name, but she can’t bring herself to try some fancy trick to get around their block and make him understand. She can’t bring herself to care.

**Why?**

Luckily, the explanation doesn’t require any names, and she recounts the story in a voice completely empty of emotion. A childhood friend who is dying. Companionship for her husband, her soulmate. A favor. A good life for her family and her sisters. Money. Honor. Duty.

Her soulmate’s only response to all of it is another **Why?**

“I already told you why!” she yells into the empty space. She slams her fists onto her bedspread, looks to the ceiling, to the heavens, not sure what she’s searching for. “She will protect my sisters and I. Her family will provide us with good opportunities and a good life. As the oldest child of the family, it’s my responsibility to ensure this. It’s my duty. It’s my choice to ensure my family’s prosperity.”

**But at the cost of your happiness?**

“A woman’s happiness means nothing here.”

**Not even her love? Not even a chance at love?**

Roop’s lower lip quivers. “Not mine.” And then it sinks into the crevices of her bones, everything she’s losing, everything she has to give up. And she crumbles all over again, crying so much that she starts to keel forward, mustering just enough energy to push herself up only to collapse on her back against the pillows. Her soulmate is quiet for a while, probably because she’s in such a state of upheaval that she wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway. It takes her long minutes to calm down, still whimpering when her soulmate finally responds.

**This woman of yours is no friend. This “favor” sounds more like a life sentence, if you ask me.**

“She’s putting her soulmate’s happiness first.” Roop’s voice wavers and cracks as she speaks. She still doesn’t trust her mind to coherently convey her thoughts without breaking down again. “If it were me, I would do the exact same thing.”

**That’s too much to ask of a person.**

“I trust her.”

**Do you even know her soulmate? Have you ever even met?**

“No. But I know her. Her soulmate should be kind, strong, intelligent, supportive, considerate. He’d be good to her. To any woman.” A pause. “To me.”

**And so would I.**

“I thought you were a terrible person.” It’s light in tone, a joke, the first time all afternoon any resemblance of a smile has come to her.

 **I thought you said I wasn’t. That we are meant for each other, and you love me despite all my imperfections, because that’s what soulmates do. That’s what true love means.** He’s just as teasing, but there’s warmth in his words. Roop turns on her side, trying to hide her blush from no one.

“Something along those lines,” she admits, and her soulmate laughs.

 **I would be good to you.** The tone shifts so fast it feels like whiplash. **I would be so good to you, I** **_will_ ** **be so good to you when the day comes. There are procedures in place that can annul a marriage, should you want to.**

“I want to.” The response is quick, interrupting. “I’m not even married to him, and I want to end it.” Her soulmate laughs again.

**Make that the deal, then. You fulfill your friend’s wishes, but the moment you discover your soulmate is the moment you end your marriage. And if you’re worried about the livelihood of your sisters, we will marry immediately after.**

Roop pauses, understanding but not believing. “You would do that for me?”

Deep laughter once again. **Mera pyaar, how do you still fail to see? For you, I would do anything.**

Roop’s heart swells at this. She presses her head deeper into the pillows, imagining for a moment she’s resting on the chest of her soulmate. “I love you.” Her mind is clear enough that she doesn’t think she needs to speak anymore, but it feels better to say it out loud.

**I love you too.**

_I wish you were here. Everything would be so much easier._ This is too fragile to put out into the world. Some deep part of Roop’s subconscious worries that someone else might be listening.

 **Pretend I am. What would you do if I was there right now?** There’s a hint of a suggestion in his tone, and Roop suddenly feels hot all over. But she’s honest.

 _I would ask you to hold me._ And her soulmate’s response has no hints of disappointment.

 **I would.** **I would lay with you, holding you against my chest until the sun disappeared from the sky and returned again. I would stroke your hair, press kisses to your forehead, wipe your tears, caress your skin. I would stay with you until you smiled again. Until you asked me to leave.**

 _Never._ Roop shakes her head, turning even further so she’s lying on her stomach. _Once I have you, I will never let you go._ Her body betrays her for a moment, cutting off her breathing, and when she gets her air back, it’s a sob. It’s not long before there are tears running down her face again.

**My love, why are you crying again?**

“It’s not fair,” she whimpers. 

**Life isn’t fair sometimes. I’ve seen this firsthand. But I always hear people say things like “This too shall pass.” People reckoning with bad events like they would a rainstorm. Finite. An ending is coming.**

_And there’s always a bright, beautiful rainbow afterwards._

**Exactly. We all must do difficult things, make difficult decisions in the hopes that they will lead us to smooth waters.**

_And you think this will? That this will somehow lead me closer to you?_

**Every day that passes is a day we grow closer to each other. And hope is lifesaving. You must know this too.**

Hope. Hope is the thing that put Roop here in the first place. Hope is why she has to marry Dev Chaudhry, to not so much guarantee but promise a good life for her sisters. A hope that they will be okay.

But her sisters hope for Roop too. And their dream for her is that she finds happiness, love with her soulmate. Kisses and touches. Children with him. A long life. Between the young women, there was never any talk of riches. Only her father seemed to worry about that.

But this is the only way to hope for both.

Inspired, Roop bolts downstairs. Her father and Satya are still in the main room, looking even more perplexed and worried then they had when Roop first arrived back home. Immediately, she gives them her terms. She’ll agree to the marriage only until she meets her soulmate.

Her father and Satya share a single glance before Satya gives in and agrees.

The wedding is mere days later. Roop is barely present as it proceeds, Dev stiff beside her as the prayers are read, numb as they circle the mandap. Roop’s soulmate is with her, a soft whisper in her head, a guidance, repeating sweet nothings to stabilize her.

**I love you. It will be okay. I am with you always. You are ensuring a good life for your family. You are doing what’s right. Every day is a day closer to our meeting, to us being together. I love you so much.**

It just makes her silent tears fall faster.

Later, Roop stands at the window of her new bedroom. It’s a warm night, so it is open, but there is no breeze. Instead, a woman’s voice carries through the air, melodic, soulful, heartbreaking. Roop hasn’t sung in days, but it feels like a lifetime.

**So how jealous should I be of your husband right now? A big chunk of my brain wants to find him first, knock him out, and take you for myself.**

Roop scoffs. _Don’t do that. He doesn’t deserve it. It’s not his fault._

**How beautiful do you look right now? How much am I missing?**

Roop blushes, hiding her face, fighting a smile with everything in her. _I don’t feel beautiful._

**Tell me anyway. I’ve never been to a Hindu wedding. What does the bride wear?**

_A lehenga and choli. A veil. Bangles, anklets, necklaces, big earrings. It’s all red and gold. It’s all very heavy._

**Gorgeous.** **You would look ethereal. Breathtaking.**

Roop blushes again, startling as the door behind her opens. She covers her face in embarrassment, even though it dawns on her half a second later that she’s facing the window--Dev can’t even see her. She hears his footsteps approach, but they stop at least ten feet behind her. She freezes, focusing out the window again, focusing on the woman’s soothing voice still carrying through the air.

“I love my soulmate very much,” Dev says, and his voice is surprisingly warm and soothing. There is no edge to it, as there is with her soulmate. If fates didn’t work in this way, Roop could understand how easy it would be for a woman to fall in love with this voice.

“I understand she is just looking out for me,” he continues. “Even if I can’t say I agree with her methods. I only agreed to this because it will make her happy. But I understand your terms for the marriage, and I accept them as well. Our union will end when you find your soulmate. Until then, I will treat you with respect and dignity, because you deserve as such. But I cannot love you. I don’t expect you to love me either. Our hearts belong to others, and this time together will be easier if you and I can understand this.”

When Roop doesn’t turn around, he adds on. “You are a brave woman, Roop. Respect, dignity, love. I hope, when you do find your soulmate, he gives you all of these things.”

Roop is only aware of his departure because of the sound of the door closing behind him.

**Premika? Are you okay? You disappeared on me.**

_Sorry. My, uh, new husband came in to say hello._

**Did he hurt you?**

_No, no. He’s on my side. We will be civil. Probably not friendly. And we will end things once I find you._ Roop’s thoughts trail away, floating to what could happen after she divorces Dev.

**And I will marry you. I didn’t forget my promise, Premika.**

_Promise…_ She lets the word sit in her head, rolling it back and forth as if it’s foreign. _Promise?_ It’s not a question. It’s a request.

**I swear. I love you.**

_I love you too._ She could never say it enough for him to fully understand how abundantly she feels for him. She can never hear him say it enough to be satisfied. And as she sits at her new vanity and looks at her extravagant appearance, her heart crumbles at the notion that the man on the other side of the door, at the end of the hallway is not the one meant to see her looking so elegant. And despite having already done so too much this week, she cries softly into her veil.

* * *

Zafar can admit to himself that his soulmate’s marriage to another man has broken him. This, he rations with himself, is why he lets Lajjo back into his bed. It feels like years since they last spent the night together--it might as well have been. And yet, when he touches her, she is just as silky smooth as ever. Her hair falls around her as if it was placed there by an artist who is using her as his muse. Her sounds of pleasure are as melodious as a full choir. They sink into his gut and egg his movements on even further.

But of course, she’s kept her chatty nature perfectly intact.

Zafar stares up at the ceiling and smokes a cigarette, half listening as Lajjo, curled into him, talks of the new girls at Bahaar Begum’s haveli, new publications on Partition, Dev Chaudhry marrying a second woman…

He turns to her slowly at this. “Dev Chaudhry?”

“Yes, meri jaan,” she says with a smile, and Zafar fights the urge to throw her out again. But he lets her explain how Dev’s wife and soulmate, Satya, is dying, and it was her last wish to see Dev safe in the arms of another.

Zafar thinks of his own soulmate, coerced into marrying a wealthy man for the sake of her family, and the knowledge of another poor woman like her out there, forced to abandon her soulmate, makes him sick to his stomach. He sits up, the evil of it all churning inside him, in his head, nefarious, creating something wicked.

Dev Chaudhry is Balraj’s son, the son he had with his wife, “properly”. There were news publications when he was born, when he met his soulmate at eighteen, when he married her. It must be breaking Dev and Balraj that Satya is dying.

Good.

But what if Zafar could destroy him? Dev, Balraj, all of them? Lure her away, lure her to him? Seduce her? Make her love him? Take her away from that vile place? Hell, even incite the Partition while he’s at it? And then drop her like hot coals, ruining her, ruining Dev and Balraj and everyone who thinks it’s okay to play fate, to take people away from where they’re meant to go, who they’re meant to be with.

Zafar stands up and leans against his open windowframe. He briefly thinks of his soulmate, wonders what she’s doing, wonders what she would say if she could see him like this, if she knew of these diabolical things he was planning. She promised to love him despite his terrible side, he remembers. If she is capable of that after all of the bad he has put out into the world over his life, she can love him after this.

A woman’s haunting song fills the air as Zafar makes a vow to himself, to his Premika, to the fates themselves that this will be his last heinous act. Afterwards, he can be kind, thoughtful, sweet. The way he is with his soulmate. Because this vow is, if not for anyone else, for her. For his love.

* * *

Roop is grateful that she was given her own room away from Dev, away from the entire Chaudhry household. For days, she doesn’t leave it, not even for meals. She sits at her open window--the air is always warm in Husnabad--listening to the same angelic voice from the night she was married travel over the buildings below her.

Satya, for the most part, leaves her alone. There are instances where she is abrupt and harsh with Roop, reminding her that this was her decision, she might as well make herself comfortable ans useful. Her meeting with her soulmate could be years away.

But Roop won’t hear it. She eats meals alone. Her only visitor is the Chaudhrys’ maid, Saroj, who brings Roop her food. One day, something inside Roop lets out, and she speaks, her voice foreign to her.

“Who’s voice is that?”

For a long moment, Saroj tenses, but she does answer. Bahaar Begum. A former courtesan and the madam of a brothel in Hira Mandi, the seedy underbelly of Husnabad. When Roop tries to press, she’s brushed off. “The name brings shame to the Chaudhry household,” Saroj keeps saying. So Roop waits a few days before asking to restart her vocal practice with Bahaar Begum in Hira Mandi.

Everyone she asks immediately denies her. Yet in the same breath, they request she join up at the Chaudhry newspaper as a chance to further unite the family. Roop outright denies, expresses the unfairness of it all, but she isn’t heard. She feels so boxed in that she doesn’t think she can keep up the content wife ruse any longer.

In the meantime, her Juno has been as kind and charming as ever, but distant. He disappears from her thoughts more frequently, and when he is with her, he’s aloof, as if he’s keeping something from her. Her misery has settled so deep within her that she doesn’t bother to question it. She just accepts the gloom that has washed over her life.

She thinks nothing of it when she finds herself on the roof one night. She’s numb as she swings her legs over the ledge, sitting dangerously close to the edge, staring off into the darkness. The world around her is hazy, dreamlike as she stands up on top of the edge. And she thinks nothing of it as her mind goes blank and her body starts to sway forward.

**My love?**

Roop immediately returns to herself, the feeling coming back into her fingers first. She climbs down from the ledge without a thought, her shoulders tense, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she presses her back against the wall and pulls her knees up to her chest.

What had she done? What had she almost done?

**It didn’t sound like you were talking to me. But it sounded like you weren’t right, like you were in trouble, and I had to check on you. I needed to. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.**

_Did_ she try to talk to her Juno? She couldn’t remember. She realizes she remembers almost nothing since she first climbed up to the roof. Her head is now frantic as she tries to piece it together. She can barely send anything coherent to her Juno.

**My love? Are you okay? What happened?**

She tried to kill herself. They took her away from her soulmate, so it would not be a far reach to leave the world herself. But how could she do that to him? She hardly had control over her arrangement with Satya. She got lucky with her deal. But this? This would be nothing but her choice, her actions. And choosing to leave him would be something she would never, could never do.

She doesn’t say all this to her soulmate. But as the thoughts run through her head, she lets them slip into the open air, not caring if he hears. And he doesn’t say anything for a while. But when he does…

**No…**

It’s small and broken, the most devastated she’s ever heard him, just in a single word. And Roop crumbles, hugging her knees and burying her face in them, curling against the wall, clawing at it, ashamed of herself. Her Juno tries to console her, talk her down. They are the same sweet things he always says, about how wonderful and perfect she is, but this time he adds things about her intelligence, her spirit, her wit, her value as a woman, as a person to society. Not just to him. To everyone she’s ever met. To the world.

Roop can’t think of anything to say in response but “I’m sorry.” Out loud. In her head. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ Over and over again, trying to make sure he feels her regret even though the silent, buried part of herself knows he already does.

He is with her the entire time, until long after she’s calmed down. She keeps her knees hugged to her chest, pretending it’s his body pressed against hers. With his voice still a smooth cadence in her head, it’s easy to imagine he’s really there with her. She swears she can smell him--smoke and spice and earth. And she’s a little taken aback when, in this fragile state, this fantasy comforts her rather than brings her to more tears.

It takes a long time before she’s stable enough to go back inside, go downstairs. The Chaudhrys are there, with an agreement that they will let Roop go to Hira Mandi to sing with Bahaar Begum as long as she works at the newspaper.

It’s the easiest decision Roop has ever made.

Her first trip is on Dussehra, and maybe it’s the heightened energy of the festival, but the place is magnificent. Not as posh and clean as the land around the Chaudhrys’ home, but there is so much life and fervor here that Roop is quickly addicted.

The brothel is also impressive, with flowers, high ceilings, marbled floors. Roop can’t understand why the Chaudhrys shudder whenever they speak of this place.

Bahaar is so graceful it’s almost intimidating. When Roop sings with her, tries to match a voice she’s admired from afar for her entire time in Husnabad, she feels the same nervousness she would as if she were auditioning for a spot in a prestigious music school. She basically is. Saroj said herself Bahaar was known for her voice. Roop can’t help but feel like a student trying to impress her teacher, worrying about every crack in her voice, every placement of her foot as she dances the way she’d been learning to since she was a child.

The sweet voice carries to the center of Hira Mandi, where Zafar literally stops in his tracks. 

It couldn’t be…

His soulmate told him often of her singing. How her father taught music, how she learned everything she knew of music and singing from him. He remembers mere days before she married, her singing to him, her voice angelic, haunting, and pure. This voice coming from nowhere sounds almost exactly like hers.

It isn’t. His Premika’s voice had a haze to it, as if the dreamy experience of this mental connection created a fog. This voice he was hearing was crystal clear, and it was coming from the brothel. As much as Zafar tells himself to avoid the place, that he shouldn’t go in there if he knows what’s good for him, his feet take him there, moving on their own.

The woman who exits the brothel as he approaches is in all white. Her hair is pulled back in a braid cascading down her back, with a transparent scarf covering the top of her head. She adjusts it as she walks down the steps, and when she glaces up and their eyes meet, the world suddenly feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

Allah, she is so beautiful.

In some deep part of Zafar, he knows this is Dev’s new wife, the one he’s looking for. In another, completely separate part, he feels a sharp stab of guilt for thinking so strongly of another woman besides his soulmate. But in order for this plan to work, he has to make it believable that he is attracted to her. So actually feeling attraction towards her will just make this easier.

They stop in front of each other, and there’s a moment of gazing that feels too romantic for a first meeting, especially one without speaking. She steps around him. Zafar catches a whiff of jasmine.

“How does a courtesan sing with so much love in her voice?”

He turns his body towards her, but she merely turns her head. Emotions pass through her eyes in an instant--widening in awe at his approach, melting at the disguised compliment, then hardening in disdain at the backhanded insult of her perceived occupation. Her lips flatten as if to say he’s wrong. When she continues to move past him, he grabs her wrist, and she whips around, her scarf falling off her head.

Roop would rather break her wrist than have it held so possessively by a stranger. But his hold is gentle on her as he pulls her closer to him. And when he looks at her with half-lidded, kajal lined brown eyes, unexpected heat washes over her entire body.

Of course. The ten-headed Ravan is burning right next to them.

“You think you can abandon me, escape me. You are mistaken.”

Is this supposed to be romantic, she wonders. If her soulmate spoke to her with such perceived control, she wouldn’t hesitate to slap him.

“Your eyes are too alluring to be looking at me with such disapproval.”

Something inside of Roop switches suddenly. His voice is like hot tea laced with sweet honey sliding down her throat. Warm. Safe. Comforting. And by God, is he handsome. Long, dark hair, parted to the side, that puffed and swooped as if it was placed by deities. Smooth, tan skin, partially obscured by a closely trimmed beard. Broad shoulders, a taut chest, thick arms. Small silver hoop earrings that Roop never thought appealing on a man until this very moment. His eyes captivate her, entrance her, hold her to this moment, this feeling of unexplainable desire until they dart down, towards where he has let go of her hand that she still holds in the air.

She drops it immediately, her gaze falling to the floor, inconspicuously at the base of his red tunic.

“Zafar.”

So he is Muslim. The kajal, it should have been a giveaway. She stores away that information, not sure what she’ll do with it, but the annoyance she felt at his abrasiveness creeps back into her, and she lets her face harden as she turns away from him and pulls her scarf back over her head.

She can feel his eyes on her as she climbs back into the boat. As it pulls away from the steps, she toys with the end of her scarf, can’t stop herself from turning back around and looking at him over her shoulder. In the last ten seconds, his face has softened. There’s a gentle teasing in his eyes now, as if his reason for approaching her wasn’t just mindless attraction, but something deeper. Something kinder. There’s even a hint of a smile.

Zafar.

If Roop can say she feels anything for Zafar, she is at least intrigued.

* * *

The rest of Hira Mandi is still fascinating, so much so that as soon as she arrives back in the main hub of Husnabad, she proposes her first article be on this gritty section of town.

This is almost as difficult to convince them of as letting her go to Hira Mandi in the first place. But Dev, surprisingly, is the one who sways the editors to let her do it. As the head of the entire operation, they really can’t go against him. Even if they look at her with disgust as they agree.

She gets a name and an address. Abdul Khan, at a blacksmith shop in the heart of town. Also Muslim, if she’s going from the name alone. She feels a little foolish walking down the dirty streets in a coral pink outfit, a lilac scarf around her shoulders, but this is the most excited she’s ever felt since coming to Husnabad, and she wants to hold onto that for as long as she can.

She approaches the man working at the front of the shop and shows him the paper. He turns inside the shop.

“Zafar bhai!”

She purses her lips. Did he hear her wrong?

She looks up at the same moment one of the workers towards the back does. His arms still swing in rhythm against the metal he’s working with as he watches her. The same man. From the brothel. Here. He works here. Same long hair, this time tousled from constant movement. Same tanned skin, even darker now in the dim light of the shop. This time, a rope necklace that she had barely registered days ago makes itself more pronounced against his chest, a silver bullet-like object tied to the end. This time, his smile reaches his eyes, creasing them a bit as he looks at her. This time, he doesn’t sport a shirt.

There’s a full second where Zafar stops moving and simply gazes. And when he turns back to his work, Roop can’t help but glance down at his muscles flexing with his movements, his veins making themselves more pronounced. She can barely hear the clerk letting her go inside over her heart pounding in her ears. She can barely register any sensation aside from the blazing heat covering her body, filling her up inside.

She never expected blacksmith shops to be _this_ hot.

On unsteady feet, she walks into the shop. She eyes the giant flame nearly in the center of the shop, close to Zafar’s station. She curses it in her head for its scorching behavior. Her eyes travel to Zafar, who steps around and undoes his heavy leather apron to reveal brown pants slung even lower around his hips. She curses him for the same.

“One meeting made you come back?” he says with a glint in his eye that makes Roop’s stomach twist into a tight knot. “Alright. Come. Tell me. What is it you seek? What’s your deepest desire that I can fulfill for you? How can I service you?”

Roop steps back in shock at such forwardness, at such lewdness. Her eyes harden. The only possible response to this she can think of is a simple “I’m married.”

“Is he your soulmate?”

Roop’s hesitation is enough of an answer for him.

“Then what’s the issue? He’ll understand. So will your soulmate, if he’s good enough.”

She practically shoves the paper at his chest. “I’m here to meet Abdul Khan.”

He just smiles again, the glint back in his eyes, and starts to circle her. Roop suddenly feels like a trapped animal.

“Why?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Then why should I tell you where Abdul Khan is?”

“What kind of twisted game are you playing?”

“Why should _I_ tell _you_?” His smile spreads to show his teeth, and Roop has the urge to shove him into the nearby flames. “Are we going to address each other’s questions with more questions? Is that how it works where you’re from?”

Roop huffs. “I’m writing an article on Hira Mandi and its people for the Daily Times.”

“So was that your business at the brothel, then?”

Roop is getting angrier by the second. “Why should my business at the brothel be of any concern to you? Why do you feel you have the right to know the happenings of everyone who passes through this shop? Of every complete and total stranger you meet?”

“Why are you making generalizations? And why have you gone back to a question for a question, hmm?”

Roop laughs. Maybe if this was the game, she could play along. “Is this the way you talk to all women? _About_ all women? Is this the way you look at them? Like conquests, prizes?”

“I know no other way to be.”

“And what of your soulmate, then? What does she have to say about this behavior?”

“Why should my business with my soulmate be of any concern to you?”

Roop narrows her eyes at him. “Regardless, I have no desire for you. I’m not interested in partaking in your betrayal.” She tries to step around him and just look for Abdul Khan herself, but he is quick to block her.

“And who talks of betrayal! Someone who is married to another. Not your soulmate. We could be here all day peeling back the layers of that decision.” He chuckles darkly, grinning again. “I can think of other layers I’d prefer to remove.”

Roop nearly gags. “You’re foul.”

“Thank you.”

It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes. “Just tell me where Abdul Khan is. Please.”

He doesn’t answer right away, gazing at her again, and Roop registers how close they’re standing. Have they been this near each other the entire time? He’s tall, too. Not too terribly tall, but tall enough that Roop has to crane her neck up to look him in the eye. He smells of cigarettes. The light coming in through the back window makes his hair look like melted chocolate at the edges. It’s almost red. Roop can barely breathe.

Finally, Zafar steps back and points to the other side of the shop, where a man in a white tunic with shorter hair files papers. She barely utters a thank you before she walks away.

Zafar can’t help but watch the woman as she talks to Abdul, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. She is jovial as she explains to him what she’s doing, and Zafar tries to connect the pieces. Social milieu. Jobless. Partition. From the way her face falls so quickly, he can discern that Abdul is denying her his participation in the article. She says something else, maybe thanking him for the consideration, and quickly makes her way out of the shop.

Before he can think, before he can second guess it, Zafar is putting on his tunic. The name of the newspaper was enough confirmation for him that this woman is Dev Chaudhry’s new wife. If he lets her walk away, he would miss his opportunity. And the way Abdul turned her down was so...careless. She left so dejected. She was so new to the area, she didn’t deserve to have her hopes crushed so soon.

He’s still adjusting his sleeves as he catches up with her walking down the stairs. He can see her turn her head slightly in his direction as she registers his footsteps, and he swears she starts to walk faster. When he comes up next to her, she stops. Turns to him. Eyes him up and down. Turns back and continues to walk.

“My soulmate is a good woman,” he calls to her, and she stops again, turning her body to face him and quirking an eyebrow. He jogs down the few steps to come up next to her again.

“My soulmate knows about my habits with women. She doesn’t agree or support these decisions, but she understands. And she knows that when I find her, my ways will change and there will be no one for me but her.” He grins again, his eyes twinkling. “You may not believe it, but I am a romantic at heart.”

Roop softens, thinking back to her own soulmate and a very similar promise he made to her. But she still eyes him, not understanding. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Let me show you Hira Mandi. Abdul is quick-tempered. And I know these streets better than him, better than anyone. They raised me, made me who I am. Both the scoundrel and the romantic.” He sighs, looking at his feet. He didn’t realize that they had continued walking. “I know it’s difficult to trust me. But contrary to what you might think, I can show restraint when I want to. And I don’t lay with a woman without her consent.” He leans closer, lowering his eyes. “Or a good price.”

Roop leans away from him, aghast. Her eyes dart everywhere except for his face, not believing that he would talk so openly about such a taboo subject. But her interest in him is piquing. Maybe he would be perfect for this.

“So…” he says, trailing off. And her eyes widen, realizing she never gave him such important information for the project.

“Roop.”

“Yes, yours is beautiful, mashallah.”

She shakes her head, unable to fight the blush, the smile that comes to her face. She shifts her bag higher up on her shoulder. “Roop Chaudhry.” As she extends her hand, she recognizes that this is the first time she’s ever used her married last name. From the way Zafar pauses, she wonders if he can see it on her face. He shakes her hand anyway.

“I remember you, you know,” she adds. “From the brothel.”

“So should it concern me that Dev Chaudhry hired his own wife? Do I need to check your credentials as a journalist?”

“You’re evading.”

“I do that a lot. Get used to it.”

She laughs, shakes her head again. Their hands drop. Her carriage is mere feet away.

“Meet me in Kallam Valley next Friday,” Zafar says. “I’ll show you something amazing, something you won’t find anywhere else in India.” When they approach her carriage, he opens the door for her and crosses his arms over it, resting his chin on the edge. “If you’re up for it.”

Roop laughs and climbs up a step. “The reason I’m in Husnabad in the first place is because I have more courage than you think.”

“You already doubt me, Roop?” he jokes. “I expected more from you.”

She laughs softly, taking the last few steps inside. Zafar closes the door behind her. The smile lingers on her face as the carriage begins to pull forward, and after a few moments, she can’t help herself but peer out the open window at where she came from. Zafar is still standing in the center of the street they were walking, a mischievous grin on his face, but there’s a lightness to it, as if he’s overjoyed he’s found someone who can match his wits.

But he ducks his head bashful, and Roop shifts back inside, getting comfortable, suddenly feeling like she invaded on a private moment. It occurs to her that he addressed her using her first name, something no one ever does when they discover she’s married, especially since she’s married to Dev Chaudhry. Always Mrs. Chaudhry, never simply Roop. It makes her feel independent. It gives her back a sense of who she was before coming to Husnabad. Who she still is.

When she leans out of the window again, they’ve already gone well past the Hira Mandi town square.

That night, she rushes through dinner and nearly sprints to her room. As soon as the door closes, she catches her soulmate’s attention and relays to him every detail of her day and the story she’s working on. Or as much as she can without being able to use any names. Her soulmate doesn’t say much, but what he does say is filled with pride for her, in addition to his usual unconditional love. She almost feels bad, using him as a springboard for her musings, but she is appreciative nonetheless.

She keeps her talk of Abdul to a minimum, and at first, she mentions Zafar only as her contact for the story instead of Abdul. But as she rehashes everything, the wheels start turning in her head, and she can’t help but let a thought slip.

 _I think my contact is trying to sleep with me_.

 **What?!** He’s appalled, but there’s laughter buried deep in his anger, and Roop can’t help but shake her head at it all. **Why? How do you know?**

_I don’t know why. You would know, do men ever really have a deep-seated reason for pursuing a woman?_

**Not really.**

Now Roop’s laugh is genuine. _It’s the way he talks. The things he says. Insanely flirty. Charming. Disarming. There’s a sweetness underneath him, though. A sense of dignity and respect, romance. He understands and honors consent._

**Sort of like me.**

This hits Roop’s chest, so much so that, from where she sits on her bed, the thought nearly throws her back, leaning on her hands behind her.

_Yes. Sort of like you._

There’s a beat before he responds. **You won’t let him, will you?**

Roop shakes her head vigorously, stopping her train of thought from running off, making assumptions she shouldn’t. _No! Of course not! I love you!_

**I love you too. But…**

_I know, Juno. I know._

**I wouldn’t mind if you did. It wouldn’t hurt. I would understand. I’m doing the same to you.**

_Thank you. But I’ve said time and time again, it’s my choice. I don’t want to, with anyone. Not until I find you._

And the topic ends there.

* * *

Kallam Valley sits on a rocky hilltop, surrounded by red-tented camps. A path indented in the ground leads to a cliffside stadium, packed to the brim with Muslim men and women placing bets on something Roop still hasn’t been able to figure out despite listening to every piece of conversation she could. There are no seats--she stands at the top of a stone staircase, picking up her red skirt as much as she can so it’s not stepped on. 

She’s never been to a sports game before. She grew up in a musical home--no one really harbored any interest in sports. The rumbling and the anticipation in the crowd excites her. But she notices the far end of the stadium has no seats. It simply ends, the edge of a cliff, nothing but grass and rocks and water below.

Roop pulls her red scarf tighter around her head.

The commotion amongst the spectators escalates as a man walks through a doorway from under the stadium. Cheers erupt as he ties a red cloth around his hips, picks up sand from the ground and covers his hands in it, the remnants staining his white pants. He is shirtless.

That’s Zafar down there, Roop realizes. She feels the same rush of heat she did when she first saw him in the blacksmith shop. But when he faces a locked door and assumes a fighter’s stance, the desire is replaced by fear. In seconds, the wood breaks, and a wild bull runs out at full speed towards Zafar, who dodges it by mere inches. The bull turns around back towards Zafar, kicking up dirt, and when it tries for him again, Zafar runs towards it, dodging the animal again, its horn scratching his arm, a long gash now running down his tricep, oozing blood. The bull smashes into another wooden post, breaking a barrier in the stands, and a few men tumble down onto the field.

What is happening?

Someone next to Roop explains that the goal is for Zafar to sit on the animal’s back for seven seconds. Then he wins a sum of money. But as Zafar grabs at the bull’s horns and is dragged the length of the stadium only to be flung off again, Roop can’t see any reason why any sum of money would be worth this.

Zafar tries the same tactic again, and this time, the bull launches him off the open end of the stadium, Zafar’s body bounding on the ground once before tumbling over the edge and out of sight. The stadium goes silent, and Roop’s fear overtakes her body. There are murmurs from the crowd, wondering if this is it, but Roop can hear nothing but the ominous rush of wind that kicks sand up in scattered parts of the stadium.

A corner of Roop’s mind wonders how she came to care for Zafar so quickly, after only two meetings. Why the anxiety comes from so deep inside her and fills all her nerve endings, as if it was one of her sisters who might have just fallen to her death. Zafar is lewd, rude, demanding, mysterious, vague. He might as well have flat out said he’s a terrible person. But then again, her soulmate said the same thing, exhibits many of the same qualities. There are hidden romantic sides deep within both men. And if her soulmate deserves a future, a chance at happiness, at life, so does Zafar.

 _Come on, come on_ , she wills with her mind, as if that’s going to do anything. _Get up. Come back._

 **My love, I’m right here.** Roop gasps and steps back at her soulmate’s response. She didn’t mean to send it to her soulmate, but the sheer power of her thought, of her intent, must have gone straight to him. This knowledge, and his deep voice in her head, brings her some ease.

 **I’m fine,** he continues. **You have nothing to worry about.**

 _No, I’m sorry. That wasn’t--_ But before she can finish, black hair slowly rises over the edge of the rocks, arms covered in sand, a fist-sized bruise on his shoulder from where the bull attacked him. The crowd erupts, and so much relief washes over Roop she’s nearly brought to her knees. Zafar climbs over the edge and pushes himself up, standing soundly on two feet as if he hadn’t just been near his death. He hurdles towards the bull and leaps onto its back, hanging on for a few seconds before once again getting thrown to the ground.

The feelings that hit Roop as he lays motionless are different. Not panic, but heavy sadness, as if she’s mourning a lover. She feels the tears coming, and again, she doesn’t understand why they’re there. Why she would be so broken if he left this mortal plane, as if he was her beloved. As if he meant more to her than just a guide to this strange, new place.

Because, maybe, something in her subconscious says, he does.

She closes her eyes. _Please._ If it worked the first time, maybe there are supernatural forces that can be put to work again. _Stand up. Come back. Come back to me._

 **My love,** her soulmate calls to her again, and a single tear slips down. **You have nothing to worry about.**

Roop doesn’t bother trying to explain again what she’s thinking, or what’s going on. She just silently prays until the crowd roars again, and Roop opens her eyes. Zafar stands, slower this time, but Roop doesn’t fully relax until he charges at the bull again, leaps onto its back, somehow manages to stay there for the full seven seconds and then falls onto the ground on his back. Roop’s grip on her scarf loosens, her knuckles white. It’s over. The other spectators celebrate, but Roop’s relief is quickly overpowered by rage.

He could have died. And where would she be then? Alone, with no one to guide her through these narrow streets? Alone, with no one to help prove herself in this new place? Alone, with no solace away from the Chaudhry family? Because that’s what he is now. Outside of her soulmate, Zafar is her solace.

She corners him outside the stadium. He’s washing off the dirt and blood in a nearby lake. The bruise on his shoulder turns out to be a nasty wound, dried trails of blood looking like spikes. He stands as she approaches. There’s a cut near the corner of his mouth, and a wide gash on his forehead with blood still dripping into his eyebrow. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

“Are you insane?!” she yells when she gets near him, shoving his bare chest hard enough that he stumbles back. She’s surprised at her force against this giant, and how smooth Zafar’s chest feels under her hands. But her fury clouds all this. And the fact that Zafar does nothing but grin at her amplifies her anger.

“I couldn’t have predicted such strength from someone so small. So feeble and reserved.”

“How dare you,” she responds, shoving him again, because she can, even if she feels he wants her to. “Why did you bring me here?” Again. “To watch you die?”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you very well could have.”

“And why were you so scared of that, hmm?” He regains his balance and crowds her space. “Do you care about me?”

Roop breathes heavily, struggling for an explanation. “Your death shouldn’t be for something as silly as my article. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience. And it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I think it would be noble. To die in search of the truth. I’d be a martyr.” He chews on the good side of his lip for a moment, and Roop can’t help but stare at the movement.

“And your article isn’t silly,” he adds. Her eyes dart back up to his. “Really. Very few have looked at Hira Mandi with anything but disgust in their eyes. I have to admire you for that. If this were reversed, I wouldn’t want you dying in vain that this goal wasn’t completed. If anything, the town deserves such admiration. You’d provide it.”

Roop’s eyes search his face. “What’s this, huh? What’s your aim? Am I an attempt at another notch in your bedpost, one of your trophies, your damsels in distress, who you think will fall at your feet after you nearly killed yourself? Or do you actually care about my work? Do you actually care about me?”

“I asked you first.” His eyes practically glow, and Roop shakes the dust off her skirt with force.

“You’re the most vile creature to walk this earth.” And she turns on her heel.

“A little harsh to say to your guide, don’t you think?” he calls after her, but she doesn’t listen.

As Roop storms away, it dawns on her that she didn’t think to bring up Zafar’s soulmate and the pain she would feel if she lost Zafar. And at the same time, it dawns on her why.

Roop was not concerned with Zafar’s soulmate losing him. She was only concerned with losing him herself.

* * *

Zafar doesn’t apologize for the terror he instigated in Roop, but he softens around her afterwards. Roop wouldn’t call it kindness still. But it’s something close. He is helpful, thoughtful, and warm. He gives her useful information for her story. And he smiles more. Not a crooked grin, but sweet, soft, genuine and ever present, as if he’s happy to simply be in Roop’s company. And as the days pass, Roop finds she feels the same.

Something changes in her weeks later, when, after a lesson with Bahaar Begum, he’s waiting for her in the small boat to take her to the other side of the river. It’s a surprise to her, him escorting her like this. His red tunic matches eerily to the one he wore when they first met, on these same steps, and Roop stops in her tracks. She thinks back to that moment, how, before he started speaking and flirting, he looked at her with nothing but awe in his eyes, as if she hung the moon, as if her dress, her being was made of stars. This is how he looks at her now. This is how she imagines her soulmate will look at her when they meet, and Roop stores away this feeling of someone admiring her, adoring her the way some tiny part of her thinks Zafar might be.

She takes his hand as he helps her into the boat, and this is the first they’ve touched without any undercurrents of violence or anger. His skin is warm, fingers calloused and dirty from hard labor. In contrast to her smoothness. It’s comforting.

The boat rocks a bit as she steps fully inside, but Zafar doesn’t touch her to steady her, except for his gentle hold of her hand. He simply guides her closer, the same look of wonder in his eyes. Roop understands the science behind bodies being close together to keep an unstable object balanced. But there’s that same rush of heat, that swoop in her stomach whenever he’s near her, and in the guilt that suddenly overwhelms her, sends a quick but meaningful apology to her soulmate.

 **For what?** His response is fast. And at the same time, Zafar quirks his eyebrows at her, as if he was the one she was apologizing to. They sit, and Roop adjusts her yellow skirt, avoiding his gaze as she talks to her soulmate.

 _For being distant lately._ And it’s true. The more time she’s spent with Zafar, the less she’s reached out to her soulmate. His attempts at contact have been less frequent as well, and it wasn’t concerning until this moment.

**You have an important project. It takes all your focus. I understand.**

_But I miss you._

**I miss you too. But you’re in my heart always. And I know I am in yours, so we are still together, even when we’re not.**

This warms the deepest parts of her soul, and she can’t help but smile as she takes extra time to adjust her skirts. _I love you._

**I love you too.**

When she looks up, Zafar has his own dreamy smile on his face, now staring at the edge of the boat, lost in thought. She’s never seen him so dazed, but so peaceful. Almost as if he’s in love.

The boat starts to move forward, snapping him out of his trance, and it’s a bit extreme, the way he blinks quickly and shakes it out of his body. Roop laughs so loudly she has to cover her mouth to keep herself calm. But Zafar just grins at her, playful this time. Teasing.

A few days later, Zafar takes her to a different section of Kallam Valley, away from the stadium. This time, it’s quiet. A rocky beach surrounds a still lake. Zafar sports a similar color palette, navy tunic and white pants. It’s in perfect contrast to Roop’s white top and dupatta and navy skirt, as if both kept to an unspoken theme. But in the morning, as she was getting ready, in an unprecedented moment of sensuality, Roop keeps her hair down, the waves long enough to reach her waist. She knows Zafar has only ever seen her with her single braid, so it shouldn’t surprise her that, when she steps out of her carriage, his eyes widen. But it does.

“What?” she asks, shrinking into herself a bit, embarrassed, regretting her decision. Zafar blinks quickly, much like he did the day on the boat, but the haze doesn’t clear from his eyes.

“If I may be frank, you look far more beautiful with your hair down.”

Roop laughs softly behind tightly closed lips. “You would be frank regardless.”

He chuckles, his shoulders moving with his laughter, the fog gone. She takes his outstretched hand, letting him help her down the slope, and she speaks without thinking as they walk.

“You think I’m beautiful?” She doesn’t know why she says this. She doesn’t know why she needs to know this. But he looks at her as if she’s gone crazy.

“You thought I didn’t think such things?” It’s teasing, a bit crude. But the impact hits. He thinks her beautiful in any and all forms. And she nearly slips on the polished rocks. Now, he holds her waist to keep her steady, and she blames her sudden harsh breathing on the surprise of her fall.

Zafar rolls two larger boulders to the edge of the lake, and they sit on them like stools, watching the waves roll in and out before Roop takes out her notebook.

“I wanted to talk about Partition,” she says with business in her tone, flipping to a blank page. “How it’s affecting Hira Mandi specifically, what its citizens think about all the changes.”

When she looks up, Zafar is playing with a small rock in his fingers, staring out into the water. His face is stone, mouth a flat line, even if his fingers continue to move as if on their own.

“C-Can I ask you a few questions?” she stutters, suddenly feeling like she’s stepping over some invisible boundary. Zafar turns his head towards her, still rigid, and then looks at his feet.

“It’s a sensitive topic for me. I mean, for people like me,” he diverts, and Roop lets a small laugh disguised as a sharp breath slip out. Zafar’s eyes meet hers, and luckily he doesn’t look angry.

“Can I ask you a personal question afterwards?” he asks. “So we’re even?”

Roop’s shoulders sag a bit, but she nods and picks up her pencil.

“What’s specifically going on in Hira Mandi that’s causing so much upheaval?”

Zafar throws the rock he’s holding out into the water. “The British are sending machinery to us. A steel factory.”

Roop nods along as she writes. “And why is this such a big deal?” Her tone is inquisitive, not judgmental. It sounds as if she’s genuinely interested instead of simply writing an article. Zafar goes on.

“A lot of people are supportive because it’s new and fancy and modern, and now we’ll have technology to really seal our independence from them. Like your husband’s paper, Dev Chaudhry fully backs the whole thing. But a steel factory will cost the blacksmiths their jobs, their livelihood, everything that makes Hira Mandi Hira Mandi. The working class here is mostly Muslim, and they’re the ones who will get the short end of the stick in a deal that’s supposed to benefit the entire nation. Only those rich Hindu swine put money in their pockets, while the rest of us are left with their scraps. It’s always like this.”

His anger escalates as he talks, but he manages to keep his pitch even. Roop remains silent.

“They’re not going to put this in the article after I just put down their chief executive.”

Roop just shrugs. “I’ll deal with that when I deal with the editor after the article actually gets written.” She doesn’t look up as she continues writing. Zafar takes the moment to let his eyes travel up and down over her body.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s your stance on all this?”

Still, Roop continues her notes. “It’s not good journalism to put your own thoughts into an article unless it’s an opinion piece.”

“I’m not asking for the sake of the article. I’m asking because I’m curious. I’m asking as a friend.” 

At this, Roop finally lifts her head. Friends? Is that what they are? It makes sense. Roop has spent more time with him over the past few months than anyone else in her life. They’re more comfortable with each other now, joking, laughing, their verbal spats more entertaining than aggravating. The only argument against this would be the way Zafar constantly looks at her, lingering, almost longing, and the way Roop’s heart turns over every time he does.

Roop lets out a steady breath through pursed lips. “Technology creates progress, and thus supports independence, and also unity. But a class divide shouldn’t also be a religious divide as well. Muslims not only deserve respectable employment, but respect in general.”

Zafar laughs darkly. “Does your husband know you don’t support his paper’s stance?”

“I never said I wasn’t on his side.”

“So you are on his side?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“Now you’re dodging. Are you for or against it?”

“You can’t boil an issue that culminates years of economic progress, class divide, and religious persecution down into a choice between two simple words.”

Roop’s words have an edge to them that take Zafar aback. The brilliance of her statement renders him speechless. He looks at her in amazement for long moments, and she looks right back, until she blinks a few times and the moment breaks.

“What?”

He laughs and bends to pick up another small rock to toy with. “Bright in addition to beautiful,” he says more to himself. But she hears it, laughs, and he looks up just in time to see her bashful smile, her head low, hair barely covering her blush.

“You might be right,” she says, tucking this hair behind her ear. “They might not even print this section. So I think we can stop here.” She looks up at him again. “You were going to ask me something? Or was that it, my opinion on all this?”

Zafar shakes his head, pointedly not looking at her. After a few beats, suddenly worrying he’s overstepping, he meets her eyes. Again, there is no judgement. Only an innocent curiosity.

“Dev Chaudhry is not your soulmate,” he finally says. “Why did you marry him?”

Roop lets out another slow breath, plays with her pencil, the edge of the page in her notebook. She kicks a few loose rocks into the water. She doesn’t answer for long moments.

“I used to be friends with Satya when I was a child,” she says to the ground. “I lost touch with her when she moved away, but our families kept in close contact. I knew she had found her soulmate and married him. And then she came back, told me she was sick, _is_ sick, is dying, and asked me to marry Dev.” She stops, barely moving, letting the wind brush her hair off her face. “She seeks companionship. Worries her husband will forget himself when he loses her. As if that wouldn’t happen to anyone who lost their soulmate, especially sooner than they thought. But my family isn’t like hers. We didn’t come from money. We were happy, but we were never as comfortable and secure as hers. My father teaches music, and the music and dance brought us so much joy and connection, but it never paid well. He took out many loans to build a life for my sisters and I so we would be safe. But the dues just kept coming, the interest just kept rising, and Satya knew all this, and she said she would help him pay everything back if I did it. And my family means more than anything to me, even more than my soulmate. My sisters are the best people I know. But I still couldn’t betray my soulmate, so I agreed only on the condition that when I discover my soulmate, our marriage ends. And she was accepting of that, and it was done.”

Roop isn’t surprised by how broken her voice gets by the end of her story, but she’s impressed she keeps her composure. She’s also surprised by how aggressive her language got when talking of Satya. She doesn’t resent the woman. Only this one thing, this one big thing Roop did for her.

Zafar, meanwhile, is floored. That Roop would agree to something that could only bring pain for everyone involved. And how eerily similar her story is to his soulmate’s. Nearly down to the last detail. How many people like this were out there? Men and women who had no qualms about taking someone away from the truest of loves, the only thought in their mind personal gain? And how money could make it okay? It’s not right. And Zafar suddenly has second thoughts about his whole plan. Dev deserves to be taken down, now there’s no question. But not at the expense of Roop and her happiness. She’s already been through enough.

Zafar doesn’t realize he’s staring again until Roop is calm enough to look up, and she raises her eyebrows. “What now?”

He shakes his head. “You are...a very brave woman.” And that’s the only answer he gives. But Roop laughs darkly in response.

“Dev said the exact same thing after we were married.” Zafar makes a face of disgust at this, and Roop laughs.

“I don’t want to have anything in common with that man,” he shutters. “It’s not right. What he’s doing.”

“ _He_ didn’t do anything,” Roop defends. “The only thing he did was walk around a fire a few times.”

“But he agreed to it. Which means he’s an accomplice.”

Roop laughs again. “You’re making it sound like he’s an accessory to murder.”

“He nearly is!” Zafar shouts, surprised at his passion for the subject. “He murdered your chance at love! Of finding your soulmate! Sure, the marriage ends when you find him, but how can you possibly go out and look for him when you have your job to attend to, your responsibilities as a wife, as a homemaker? It’s sabotage. And a person should only circle that fire once in their life. With their soulmate. They took that from you. It’s not right.”

Roop doesn’t respond. She simply watches his tirade, and when he’s finished, she looks at him with confusion, hesitation, trepidation.

“Why do you care so much about my chance at love?” Her voice is small when she speaks, and the way Zafar snaps his attention back to her makes him seem like he got caught in the headlights. His mouth moves, but no words come out as he gathers his thoughts. Finally, he closes his lips tightly and breathes out through his nose.

“I care about you, alright?” He sounds angry about it. His eyes are narrowed at her, but he’s looking directly at her. It pins Roop to the rock she’s still perched on.

“If you won’t say it, I will.” He waves his hand and turns towards the water, as if this is his conclusion. Roop just stares in awe, in wonder, filled with some kind of light. Her heart isn’t turning over in her chest anymore, but expanding, beating so hard she can hear it, worried it’s going to pop out and leap into the water. Any sane person would berate her, tell her that a man’s opinion of her worth should mean nothing. Why is she placing such high value to it? Why is her first thought that she is grateful, because she feels she deserves his care?

Because doesn’t she? Doesn’t she deserve the care and attention of someone without obligation? Of someone who chose her?

“I care about you too…” It’s a whisper. Roop barely hears herself say it. But Zafar does, and he lifts his head. They lock eyes for what feels like an eternity before Roop clears her throat and turns to a clean page in her notebook.

“Holi is in a few days. What does Hira Mandi do to celebrate?” Zafar just shakes his head at her quick change in tone. He shrugs.

“Not much. Hira Mandi is mostly Muslim, so it doesn’t mean much to most of the people who live there.”

Roop shakes her head, her notebook nearly sliding to the ground. “Right, sorry, it slipped my mind. It’s not even really for the article anyway, I was just making conversation.”

“It’s alright,” Zafar says, his smile matching the softness in his voice. “There are a few who celebrate, a few who play for the sake of playing. They respect those who are deep in the religion, even if they only enjoy it for the color. When I was a kid and I saw the colors in the air, I couldn’t help myself but to run through it. I loved it. And the drums, they just...filled me with something. Happiness, I think. Or something that made me...forget everything.”

Zafar’s voice takes on a wistful tone, and Roop’s head is cocked to the side. “Forget what?” she asks. He shakes his head and stands.

“I think one traumatic backstory is enough for today,” he responds firmly, stretching out his hand. She takes it, pursing her lips, a gleam in her eyes, an idea forming in her head.

“But someday, maybe?” she asks when she rises. The smile that spreads across Zafar’s face could melt ice.

“Maybe someday.”

* * *

Roop always makes plans with Zafar for the next time they’ll meet before they leave. This time, as she’s in the process of mentally working out the details, she gives the instructions.

There’s an archway at the edge of Hira Mandi’s main square that leads into a flat, wide open field. The grass is dry in patches, but there are trees in the distance, almost fencing the area in. Zafar arrives first, in a completely white ensemble as per Roop’s demands. When Roop steps out of her carriage, also completely decked out in white, with her hair back in her signature braid, she strides towards Zafar with such determination that he is frozen where he stands.

She stops in front of him, carrying a wooden box. He furrows his eyebrows at her, but she simply puts the box down on the ground and opens the latch. There are several silver jars inside, all with matching lids. She takes one out, and from the way she handles it, it seems sturdy, but not heavy. She removes the lid, and the contents of the jar don’t reach the brim, so Zafar can’t see inside. But Roop reaches in, scooping out some of it, and her hand comes out covered in bright green. She unfurls her palm, and a small mound of powder sits in the center.

Zafar’s smile has barely stretched fully before Roop blows the powder directly into his face.

His face contorts in a way that makes Roop laugh immediately--pursed lips, scrunched nose, eyes screwed shut. He swipes at the air, now foggy with green, and laughs, coughing immediately afterwards. It saturates his skin in spots, settles in his thick eyebrows, stains the hem of his white outfit. Roop has picked up on the fact that he wears white more often than not, and she always wondered why, but knew she could make good use of it. Her own white ensemble should have been an indication of what she was planning.

She smiles, closed mouth, mischievous. “Happy Holi.”

He laughs, shakes his head, scratches his nose. The green from the skin where he scratched is now buried under his thumbnail, and it leaves a tan mark on the bridge of his nose. Roop’s fingers impulsively twitch on their own with how much she suddenly wants to tap the tip of his nose with her finger like a schoolgirl teasing her crush.

Zafar, being who he is, changes the mood with one shift of his eyes. He holds his gaze locked to hers, steps closer to her so the silver jar is practically pressed against his chest. Without averting his eyes, he dips two fingers into the jar and runs them down her smooth cheek.

Every sensation is suddenly heightened. Roop can feel the grainy consistency of the powder as it moves across her face, and she can feel the calluses of Zafar’s fingers underneath. She can feel the heat of his presence engulf her. She can see the flecks of gold in his eyes as the sun reflects in the brown. She can smell the smoke on him, nicotine and pure fire. She can see his muscles quiver a bit as the movement of his hand slows down. And she realizes his chest isn’t moving, his breath doesn’t wash over her face as she would expect it to from this close. She wonders if he is holding his breath too, wonders if the intensity of the moment is affecting him like it is her.

He drops his hand, and a moment later, her hand, which had been outstretched in this entire exchange, comes up. Slowly, carefully, she presses her powder covered hand to his beard, leaving an imprint. It’s neatly trimmed, each hair short and prickly--she can feel the small poke of each individual one on her sensitive palm. His focus on her still doesn’t waver, and Roop feels like she will die of oxygen deprivation, or of being burned alive from the inside out.

She pulls her hand back just as slow, taking a moment to admire her work before disposing of the excess powder by ruffling his hair.

It’s soft, much softer than the skirt she wears, and long, much longer than she’s ever seen on a man. But the feeling is short lived, because Zafar ducks out of her touch, making a noise of both surprise and disdain. When he looks up, his eyes are blown, and his face spreads into an impossible to resist smile.

“Oh, now you’ve waged war.” He bends, picking up another jar, this one filled with pink. He dips his hand in and smears the exposed skin above her top with the color. She gasps in surprise and at the enthusiasm with which he touched her. How bold, how brazen, how wild. Spurred, she dives into the pink herself and throws it at him, aiming for his necklace which rests in the center of his chest. Quickly, she bends down to open the rest of the jars. She’s not quick enough for Zafar, who buries his hands in two colors at once and smears them both all over her back. She falls forward, almost collapsing on her knees, nearly knocking everything over. She grabs a fistful of blue and, in one fluid motion, stands, spins, and flings the color at his abdomen.

They play for what feels like both a hundred years and a minute. They run around screaming, laughing, Roop’s airy and musical, Zafar’s deep and proud. It’s enchanting, and Roop lets herself get swept up in it all, lets herself get physically swept up as Zafar catches her from behind, wraps his arms around her waist, and swings her around. The flip of her stomach, the comfort in her soul is an afterthought.

She tosses color behind her shoulder, her skirt swinging, her hair flying, when she feels a yank at the back of her head. She freezes, nearly stumbling, and feels around for where her braid begins at the base of her skull. It’s pulled taut behind her, as if it’s been caught in a door handle, and she carefully turns her head, just enough to see Zafar holding the end of her braid with his right hand, the intense look back in his eyes.

His hand is covered in blue, and he doesn’t move as he stares at her. Roop suddenly can’t look at him, and she lowers her eyes to the hem of her skirt, bashfully and awkwardly turning back around. She feels his left hand grab onto her braid just above the right one, no doubt also stained with color. Her shoulders tense, and when his right hand moves to place above his left, and in the process pulls her towards him, she gasps, taking a step back to steady herself. This movement continues, slow and steady, Zafar pulling Roop towards him by her hair and Roop helpless to fall back with him. Her breath quickens at how possessive and overwhelming the act is, and she can feel his breath escape in long, drawn out puffs as much as she can hear it. Eventually, his hands reach the base of her head and he gently moves her braid around so it’s back to resting over her shoulder as it was when she arrived. Sure enough, it’s painted entirely bright blue. She can see Zafar’s handprints, the marking of his fingers lining it up and down, and when he places his hands on her shoulders and presses his chest against her back, the rush of desire that courses through her makes her dizzy. She tries to catch her breath, and then Zafar’s left hand passes in front of her face, gently cupping her right cheek and turning her head towards him. She keeps her head angled down, admiring the blue handprint on her shoulder. Zafar’s fingers slide down her face, across her jaw, and under the tip of her chin, gently lifting her head up. At the same time, Roop has no choice but to turn her body towards him.

His eyes are so bright in the daylight that they look golden, perfectly polished, pristine. Once again, she’s suddenly so sensitive that she feels all the specks of blue powder on Zafar’s two fingers that hold her chin angled up. His gaze is still intense, but he seems to be waiting for her signal, giving her the power to move the moment in whichever direction she wants. Roop toys with the ends of her hair without breaking their gaze. She’s never had this kind of power before.

Her hand drops, her soulmate flashes in her head. His kindness, his care, in such contrast to Zafar’s selfishness, his impulsive nature. Her soulmate’s trust, respect, protection that flows through her body in gentle waves. In such contrast to Zafar’s possession, his control that pierces through her with sharp edges. Her soulmate’s deep voice fills her with calm, while Zafar’s rich tone fills her with unexplainable passion. Both men are passionate, about their work, about the state of the world, about those they love. About her.

So why can’t she have both?

Drums boom down the street, snapping Roop out of her thoughts, instantly dawning on her how horrible they are, how she couldn’t do that to her soulmate. She blinks quickly, her shoulders tensing. But as she steps away from Zafar and tears her eyes from him, she thinks back to the conversation she had with her soulmate about how it’s in his nature to seek out sex, how he hasn’t actively sought her out. But she hasn’t searched for him either. She’s followed the guidance of her religious teachings and let fate guide her, let things happen and let feelings bloom as naturally as she could.

Her feelings for Zafar are natural, she tries to tell herself. She can be attracted to him and be in love with her soulmate at the same time. Her thoughts are not criminal unless she acts on them. Her soulmate even confessed to his relationships with other girls. She reacted with compassion and understanding. And he promised he didn’t love any of them, that she would be the only one for him when he found her.

But she’s not interested in anyone else but him. She told him. It’s not in her nature to waste time with anyone else when she knows someone is out there who is perfect for her. And Zafar is far from perfect, despite how much she’s enjoyed spending time with him. But it’s impossible to ignore how frantic Zafar makes her feel, in comparison to the sense of ease she feels when her soulmate is present with her. Her soulmate is a hot cup of tea, warming her soul from the inside, while Zafar is the strong sun, lighting up her skin.

Her soulmate makes her feel serene. Zafar makes her feel alive.

There is nothing wrong with feeling, she tells herself again. There is nothing wrong with you if you don’t act on it. She folds her hands in front of her and finally looks back up at Zafar. He chews his lower lip in playfulness, but his eyes hold a sadness as if he wanted her to act. As if he regrets not acting himself. 

A horn is added to the drum beats, and it spurs Roop’s energy and lifts her spirits. Attraction be damned. She won’t deal with it now. She is Zafar’s friend. She can enjoy his company as a friend. She can celebrate with a friend.

She turns to him. “Come dance with me.” And without waiting for a response, she lifts her skirts and runs down the street towards the music.

He watches her go, giving her space after the intensity of the moment. He felt it. How much he wanted it, how much he truly wanted her. And how much she wanted him in return. The plan is working, but there’s a part of Zafar’s subconscious that wants to back out. This is too dangerous. He’s getting too close. He can break his father, his father’s son, that he has no qualms about. But this innocent girl who has done nothing but provide companionship in service of a dying woman? He would shatter her. And she doesn’t deserve it.

And what of his soulmate? Spirited, attentive, earnest. A woman who hasn’t judged him for his escapades, who remains faithful despite not expecting him to do the same. How can he break the heart of someone who would never hurt him? How could he break the heart of someone who was made for him?

It dawns on him. His soulmate fell in love with him without physical touch. It’s possible. The same could happen to Roop. And if asked, the most important thing to him right now is his revenge. If hearts break along the way, these casualties are necessary. They always are in war.

Zafar runs after her. He slides his way through the gathering crowd, playing their own games in high spirits. In the center of the crowd is Roop. She spins with her hands in the air, her skirt billowing around her, her braid flying, excess color decorating the ground around her. Zafar watches for a few moments, transfixed. There is no rhyme or reason to her movements, but they are so technically precise, from the sway of her hips to the bend of her fingers, it’s as if she rehearsed the dance before the music began, before she even knew what the music would be.

Zafar snaps himself out of his trance and pushes his way through the crowd, falling into step with Roop, keeping a distance from her but moving with her. It’s nowhere near as graceful, but has just as much passion, expression, freedom, and Roop laughs loud, applauding his jerky movements.

He grabs her hand, spins her round, pulls her flush against him, hands on her hips. She startles, an arm impulsively slinging around Zafar’s neck to steady herself, her other hand resting on his shoulder. Her eyes are wide, scared. But there’s a smile in her eyes. And she doesn’t pull away.

Pieces of her hair have fallen out of her braid, framing her face, and Zafar tucks one behind her ear. She blushes, lowering her head, and Zafar is suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her, hold her close and press his lips to every inch of her round face. Without taking his eyes off of her, he lifts her hand from where it’s wrapped around his neck, and spins her out, away from him. Her smile becomes more vibrant, and she returns to her dance, motioning for him to join her. He does, trying his hardest to make the spring in his step seem genuine.

He cannot be a casualty in this war.

The mood lifts as the afternoon passes, and Roop is light as she goes home. There’s probably a faint cloud of dust trailing behind her as she walks, but she doesn’t care. Dev’s eyes widen as she walks into the house covered in color. She just hands him the box.

“I decided to bring Holi to Hira Mandi. There’s still some left. You can bring Holi to Satya. I’m going to clean up.”

She brings clean clothes and a bucket of water up to the roof. As she’s undoing her braid, her soulmate’s voice comes to her, sweet, happy.

**Happy Holi, mera pyaar.**

She smiles brightly up at the sky, silently thanking God for her soulmate, for today, even for Zafar. For holidays, for colors, for sunshine, for every good thing she has in her life. She runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head, laughing as traces of color continue to fall to the floor.

_Happy Holi, Juno._

* * *

Satya dies a short time later.

Dev and Balraj are the only ones who bury her. Roop can’t bring herself to participate, mostly because she can’t bring herself to mourn. She wears the white out of respect, but that’s as deep as her emotions go. But what builds in its place is guilt that she doesn’t feel as strongly as she knows she should, that she doesn’t care as much about the people in this house as she should. But they don’t care about her either, so it balances out.

It’s really just two people now who she cares for. Zafar and her Juno. During the day, Zafar takes Roop all around Hira Mandi on wild adventures, down hidden alleys, up on rooftops looking well beyond Husnabad’s borders. And at night, her soulmate gives her quiet comfort and peace, catching each other up on their days like a married couple would do, whispering soft, sweet nothings into the darkness. The Chaudhrys let Roop keep her room separate from Dev--the man is too broken to interact with anyone, let alone share a bed with his now only wife. And Roop is happy to keep her distance, allowing her to blossom with her soulmate without rubbing it in Dev’s face.

There is still that lingering remorse in her soul as she and Zafar, perched on a balcony, watch children fly kites down the street on a sunny day. In unplanned matching yellow outfits, there should be nothing but light in Roop’s chest, in the mood between them. But there’s just a palpable gloom, so much so that Zafar must be able to feel it too.

“I’m sorry,” he says during a period of silence between them, and Roop simply looks at him, grateful she doesn’t have to fake her smile anymore, but still giving him a sad one anyway.

“Thank you,” she says softly. Nothing more than that. It’s quiet again except for the shouting children below.

“Has anything changed?” Zafar asks. “Between you and Dev?”

Roop shakes her head. “No. If anything, we’re even more distant than we were when we first got married. He won’t talk to anyone, much less me. We leave each other alone. Have been since the beginning.”

“So you’re not going to take her place then.”

Roop furrows her eyebrows. “What?”

He turns his body towards her. “Wasn’t that the whole point of this? For you to take her place after she passed? Give Dev the same comfort and care that she could give him? And now everyone is realizing that’s not possible.”

Roop sighs. “There’s no use trying to fight it now. He’ll let me go when I find my soulmate. And then it’ll all be over.”

Zafar doesn’t say anything, just grips the bar of the balcony in front of him.

“Did you want me to?” Roop works up the courage to ask. “Take her place?”

Zafar immediately shakes his head. “It’s still not fair that you never got the chance to seek love for yourself.”

Roop clicks her tongue. “My soulmate and I talk to each other every night. After I’ve spent the day traipsing around Hira Mandi with the likes of you.” At this, she lightly swats his shoulder, and he laughs.

“I’ve sought love, and I have it,” Roop continues, looking at Zafar. “And you need to stop worrying about me so much. I should be asking you these things.” She leans her hip against the bar. “You hardly talk of your soulmate. What’s she like?”

Zafar watches the street for a long time, still gripping the bar. When he speaks, it’s directed at the ground.

“My soulmate is in a surprisingly similar situation to yours. Married to a dying friend’s husband to help her family. But she is so strong through it all. She’s found solace in music and work. Her love for me is unwavering. I…” His head falls forward, he shakes it, his next words muffled by his chin nearly touching his chest.

“I don’t deserve her.”

Roop’s hand twitches up, wanting to gently place it on Zafar’s shoulder in comfort, to wrap her arms around him and let him rest his weary head on her chest. But she doesn’t. She just stands there, mouth slightly agape, even if Zafar still won’t look at her, won’t look up. After a long time, he lifts his head and stares back out at the street, calmer.

“She is gentle. She is kind. She is a good person.” A pause. “A better person than I could ever be.” He turns towards Roop.

“I love her. And she loves me too.” He pauses again. “But I also doubt if it’s possible to love someone you’ve never met. I ache with a need to know her face, to touch her, to kiss her. She knows I can’t have that, which I think is why she’s so understanding of my continued pursuit of other women. But...” He stops, and Roop’s gaze is stoic, not understanding.

“But?”

“But,” Zafar responds with some hesitation in his voice, as if he’s not sure what he wants to say either. “That doesn’t make genuine human connection with someone else any less real.”

Roop freezes, knowing exactly what he’s saying and yet not understanding it at the same time. Was she right when this whole thing started? That she was just another one of his conquests? No, she wasn’t, he said he cared about her by the lake. Zafar didn’t seem like one to say anything like that lightly. But then again, he could be lying. Saying pretty things to lure her into a false sense of security, making her easier to trap. And yet…

And yet he’s looking at her with such a sense of wonder. His eyebrows scrunch together as he thinks, as he hesitates. She can practically see the cogs in his mind turning. His eyes say it all. How his feelings are real, and overpowering, despite the security and certainty in his love for his soulmate. How much it all scares him, now that it’s on the surface, threatening to boil over.

How every feeling in his eyes mirrors Roop’s heart exactly.

She can barely breathe as his eyes fall to her lips and he takes a step towards her. And another, until his face fills her vision, until his breath washes over her mouth. God, he smells of smoke and spice and earth, the same scents that filled her when she nearly jumped off the Chaudhrys’ roof, when she was so delirious that her soulmate talked her down and she could practically feel him there next to her. Zafar’s forehead gently touches hers, their noses barely brushing, and Roop’s eyes fall closed. She’s overcome by primal, hungry desire, overwhelmed by how much she wants this, how much she needs this.

But at the last moment, Zafar turns his head away from her. His breathing is surprisingly hard and deep, in contrast to Roop, who can barely take in oxygen. He’s still close to her, foreheads together, his breath now washing over her neck, and Roop’s knees nearly buckle at its heat. When he pulls slightly back, still close enough that she can smell him, Roop wants to cry.

“We should leave.” His voice is husky, with unfulfilled want, Roop thinks, hopes. She opens her eyes, but refuses to look at him, eyes downcast, focused on his steel necklace. She can feel his eyes on her as he steps completely away from her, as the air around her cools sharply now that there’s no body close to her to warm her up. She can feel his eyes search her face, but all he would be able to find is guilt, shame, regret. She doesn’t move until he disappears from her line of sight and she hears his heavy steps move down the stairs.

They don’t arrange their next meeting when Roop comes down. They barely talk, palpable awkwardness and discomfort between them. As Roop sits in the carriage, finally alone, her hands sit limp on her lap, and she can’t stop staring at them. What almost happened with Zafar plays over and over again in her mind, but her feelings towards the situation mutate. There’s still regret, but it morphs into regret that nothing happened between them. She sees his face again, so close she could see each individual hair on his beard, the golden flecks in his brown eyes. She can’t get over his scent, so dizzying and intoxicating it could make her high. What if his hands had held hers, had cupped her waist, her face? Would they feel as rough and calloused as they did in her hands? Would she feel it more on her soft cheeks?

But she just circles and circles around it, like a whirlpool, and comes to the same conclusion every single time.

She’s in love with Zafar. It’s deep and it’s pure, and it’s real. And it fills her up with so much emotion, intensity, and passion it nearly knocks her out. And yet, she can say the exact same thing about her soulmate. How is this possible? To be in love with two people at the same time, both so strongly she wouldn’t know what to do if she lost either of them?

She doesn’t have the answer when the carriage brings her back to the Chaudhrys. The only thing she knows for certain is that her soulmate needs to know. He deserves it, even if he doesn’t deserve the heartbreak that will most surely follow.

She stays in her room all afternoon, mulling over how she’s going to broach the subject. She barely has enough strength to come downstairs for dinner. But when night falls and she’s alone again, jewelry taken off, braid undone, she sits on the edge of her bed and grips the sides.

_Juno?_

**Yes, my love?** His response is fast, as usual. And his voice is still so gentle and warm that Roop nearly crumbles into tears right then and there. But there is pain in his words, as if he has his own turmoil that he kept from her. She’ll deal with that later.

_Can we talk?_

**Of course. Is everything alright?**

She wrings her hands. _No. I have to tell you something._

**My love, what’s wrong?**

She takes in a deep breath, keeping the thought to herself for so long he’s probably starting to get worried.

_I fell in love with someone._

Now he is silent. It’s so empty in her room now Roop doesn’t realize she’s stopped breathing until she falls forward with a hand to her chest, sucking in air like she’s just been choked.

 **Who?** He finally responds after nearly two minutes. Roop presses the bases of her palms to eyes, and when she pulls them back, they’re wet and black from the eye makeup she forgot she was wearing.

 _My contact._ Her body shakes with the admission. _The one I told you about, who’s helping me with my article. He’s kinder than he seemed at first. We’ve had many adventures together. We’ve gotten closer. It just sort of happened. I never meant for it to happen._

 **You never plan to fall in love.** There is barely any inflection in his voice, so Roop can’t tell how he feels. She doesn’t know if she would feel better if he was angry with her, or upset by any means. He doesn’t speak again, and Roop doesn’t know what to say either.

 **I fell in love with someone too.** Roop is suddenly up on her feet, climbing to the center of the bed on her knees, not really sure what she’s going towards, sitting on her heels with her hands folded in her lap.

_Who?_

He hesitates. **I don’t know if I told you, but a woman moved to town. She just got married. Without getting into too much detail, I was showing her around. We also spent lots of time together. I also never planned for it to happen.**

_You pursued a married woman?_

**My intentions with her weren’t pure.**

_What do you mean?_

**I don’t agree with a lot of the things her husband does and supports. He’s not her soulmate, and there are many personal reasons why she married him. But I think it’s vile he took her away from her soulmate. The same way I felt when you got married. So I wanted to take down his family by seducing her and taking her away. I never expected my feelings for her to become real.**

Roop’s head is spinning too much at the confession to acknowledge how horrible his original intentions with her were, how this mystery woman deserves so much better than that. She adjusts her body so her legs are stretched in front of her and lies on her back.

_What do we do, then?_

**I don’t know, Premika. I don’t know.**

They are silent for a long time. Roop folds her hands over her stomach, letting her thoughts turn over themselves, keeping them in her head. She can practically feel her heart being pulled in both directions, one moment aching for her soulmate who has been a steady presence all her life, bringing her peace and happiness since she was a child. The next moment, it yearns for Zafar, his wild mystery, how he makes Roop question everything she’s ever known. She’s so dizzy from the back and forth it almost makes her sick.

 **I can’t.** Her soulmate speaks suddenly, and it fills Roop with anxiety.

_Can’t what?_

**I can’t become these men who I constantly criticize. I can’t take someone away from who they’re meant to be with. I can’t play God, can’t control destiny, can’t try to do it anymore, can’t let those who do win. I can’t lose you. I can’t let you go. I won’t.**

He’s choosing her. Over someone who is close to him, someone he can touch, someone who would go with him willingly. He’s choosing her, who is just a voice in his head, with no way of knowing when she will ever be more than that. But he’s choosing her, and it sinks into Roop’s bones, as if this is the first time someone’s ever chosen her in her life. It feels like it is. And immediately, her feelings for Zafar realize themselves as nothing but lust, an animalistic need, her body craving him, not her heart. And with the realization, the decision made, she presses her hands against her eyes again and cries openly.

 **I love you, but you cry too much.** The abruptness and randomness of his comment makes Roop choke out a laugh around her tears.

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry for crying so much, I’m sorry for doubting you, for doubting us, I never will again, I swear, you’re it for me, you always have been, I know that now, with everything in me, I’m so sorry._

**It’s okay, my love. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.**

And he does what he does best--he talks her down from the edge. But Roop can’t let go of the fact that she nearly gave him up, gave his love up, and it takes her a lot longer than usual for her tears to dry. But he’s with her the entire time, and Roop will keep him close for as long as he will stay.

 _We need to change the subject._ She finally sends a coherent message once she’s calm. _I can’t keep getting so emotional like this._

He laughs, clear and deep. **Alright, what do you want to talk about?**

Roop takes a few moments to bury herself under the blankets, cuddle up against her pillows, set up her space so she can drift off to the sound of his voice. _In all this time, you’ve never given me a clear picture about what you look like. Will you now? Please? For me?_

Another laugh. **For you, always.** She swears she can hear him clear his throat, and a laugh of her own slips out.

**I have to start out by saying that I’m not very tall. I’m lucky that I’m taller than most of the women I’ve met, but I’m not very tall for a man. My skin is tan, but not too dark. My hair is black, fairly long for a man, but not so long it looks feminine. I have a beard, and I keep it trimmed but visible. You know I’m Muslim, and so I wear kajal on my eyes every day, which are brown. I have to say, my muscles are fairly large, chest and abdomen defined, clean shaven as much as I can. But not everywhere.**

Roop giggles as a picture forms in her mind. She imagines him, slightly taller than her, enough that she can rest her head against his chest, but doesn’t have to stretch up to kiss him. She imagines his closely cropped beard lightly scratching her face as he kisses her. She pretends his strong arms are around her, rough hands on her waist, his smooth chest pressing against her body.

Like Zafar’s smooth chest as she shoved him by the lake, as it pressed against her back on Holi. His muscles. His long, dark, soft hair. His brown eyes. His beard. His kajal. His tan skin. He’s taller than her, but not so much that she would have to reach for him. Smoke, spice, earth.

Oh, God.

It all hits Roop at once. The description. The similarities in their stories. Her soulmate showed a married woman around a new town, exactly what Zafar was doing for Roop. A woman who isn’t married to her soulmate. When she prayed for Zafar’s safety during the bullfight, her soulmate was right there, assuring her he was alright, mere moments before Zafar arose from certain death. Zafar’s romantic side. Her soulmate’s charming side. They blended together because they were one and the same.

And Zafar is in love with her too.

She doesn’t want to acknowledge how he only got close to Roop to sabotage Dev’s family. Zafar never explained why. But she thinks back to her conversation years ago with her soulmate about how his father abandoned his mother, his soulmate, when she had him. How that just about ruined his life. Roop still can’t make the connection between that story and the Chaudhrys. But everything else lines up so perfectly, she knows in the deepest parts of her being that it has to be true. Zafar is her soulmate.

At the realization, she sits up so fast she sees stars in her eyes. She can’t hold back her gasp. Some maid will surely come check on her.

 **My love?** He’s there again, her soulmate, her Juno, her Zafar, and now she knows him, and she wants to cry all over again. **What’s wrong now?**

He sounds just like him too. His voice deep, rough, making her feel dizzy and drunk and light as air, as if the ground below her simply disappeared. She wipes at her face again, having cleaned the makeup off before she climbed into bed. The breath she takes is unsteady--she hopes he can’t hear her.

 _Nothing. Everything is okay. Everything is wonderful._ There has never been a truer statement spoken. _I love you._

**I love you too. So much.**

She can practically see his face in her head, watch his lips move as he says this to her, and she holds her breath to keep from crying again, this time in a mix of relief and ultimate euphoria. When she lets it go, she doesn’t feel the urge to anymore. Instead, her thoughts race in a different direction. She knows what her next move has to be. It’s just a manner of making it happen.

* * *

The fact that Roop and Zafar never made plans for another meeting makes the situation, and Roop’s longing, worse. She keeps in contact with her soulmate frequently, chirpier than usual. He notices and questions it, despite how happy her happiness clearly makes him. Roop just brushes him off. Says her life is very good right now. Which is not a lie.

But as time goes on, seeds of doubt begin to plant in her head. There are lots of tan men with beards, who are muscular, who are Muslim and wear kajal. There are lots of men in the world who must be angry with those who go against their destiny. With over 2 billion people in the world, it doesn’t have to be Zafar. It could be anyone.

But what Roop has prided herself on since she moved to Husnabad is staying true to who she is. And even before she married, she was hopeful. Hope kept her close to her soulmate. Hope brought her to Husnabad. Hope will bring her to Zafar.

She ventures back to Hira Mandi two days later, in white and soft pink, her hair back in its braid. The men of the blacksmith shop know her by now and send her back to Zafar without thinking twice. He wipes sweat from his brow as he works, but when he looks up and spots her, he freezes. His white tunic is covered in patches of soot, and his expression is blank, but there is more in his eyes. As if he is trying to hide how happy he is to see her.

At least Roop wants to believe he’s happy to see her.

“Have we been avoiding each other?” she asks when she gets in front of him. He shrugs.

“Maybe to some extent.”

“I’m sorry.” The way he looks at her is as if she’s gone insane.

“What are you sorry for? I was the one who almost…” He doesn’t finish, looking away. She knows what he almost.

“Do you regret it?” He looks back at her. Still doesn’t answer.

“I don’t,” she responds to her own question. “I wanted it. Badly. And I could feel you did too.”

She dares a step closer. “I care about you. It took me a long time to admit that to myself and to you. And now I have no fear in admitting that I have feelings for you. I am not ashamed of them. Because I know you have them too. I can feel it.” Her momentum stops. “And I need you to tell me I’m right. Or I will accuse you of lying.”

Zafar laughs, a grim sound, the feeling reaching his eyes but almost narrowing them, as if her speech filled him with something slimy instead of something sweet.

“Wow,” he says finally. “When I first met you, you were disgusted with my nature because I was betraying my soulmate. And now look at you. Destined to be with one. Married to another. In love with a third. Is my influence that great?”

“I never meant for it to happen,” she retorts. “It just sort of happened.” She had hoped that using the same phrasing in their initial mental conversation would trigger something, some sort of similar awakening that she had. But there’s nothing. Zafar’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’m a terrible person,” he answers. Roop’s heart leaps into her throat at this same conversation starter he used months ago, before she even came to Husnabad. But still, there’s no recognition in Zafar’s face.

“My life is not a pretty one,” he continues. “There is no sunshine in my story. There are things I’ve done that you would not be proud of, that you would not support or agree with. The entire reason I wanted to get close to you in the first place was not out of any sort of attraction or compassion or anything good in my heart. There’s very little good in there. You would not want it.”

“What if I do?” she counters. “What if I choose to accept it? What if I accept everything you are, everything you have been, everything you can give to me? What if I accept all of it?”

And suddenly he is right in front of her, invading her space, close enough that their foreheads barely touch. Roop can practically hear his heart pounding from this close. She doesn’t move.

“Balraj Chaudhry is my father.” He speaks softly, but his breath comes quick. His eyes are unfocused, staring at the edges of Roop’s scarf. “Bahaar Begum is my mother. They’re soulmates.”

Roop pulls back a bit, her eyes widening. “What?”

Zafar meets her gaze, pained. “They fell in love.” He laughs through his teeth, shaking his head. “Of course they did, they’re soulmates.” His eyes move back to the ground. “Would you even consider that an affair, then? They’re soulmates, it was bound to happen, they were destined to come together, but they hid, he hid her from the world, from everyone in his life. He wasn’t proud that she was his soulmate, he wasn’t thrilled that he had found her because she was a _courtesan_ .” He puts on mock disgust in his voice. “A _plebian._ Such a _low life_ . He loved her, but he hated who she was. So when I became the result of their bond, he disowned me, disowned my mother, his own _soulmate_ . He married someone else, someone _better_ , more _appropriate_ for someone of his standing. Had a son. Dev. And completely cut himself off from my mother. From me.”

His eyes are drawn up to Roop’s as if by magnetic force. “It’s already hard enough to do what my mother does, to have that kind of reputation, to be known like that. But I was his son too. The son of a traitor. A deserter. It was because of me that a man came to commit one of the most terrible sins one can perform. He abandoned his own family. He abandoned those he was destined to love.

“I hated him. I still hate him. I hated everything he ever did, everyone who associated with him. I hated every article his newspaper published, I hated every mention of his name. I hated his son and how everything that was ever written about him made him seem perfect, prim, proper, the ideal man. I resented him when it was announced he had met his soulmate and was married to her at 18 years old. I _celebrated_ when I learned she was dying! Is that not the worst thing you’ve ever heard? I rejoiced at the sickness of a woman I never met. I thought it would make Balraj see how much it hurts to lose a soulmate. I thought it would finally bring up his mistakes, make him see the destruction he left.

“And then I learned that she had found another female companion for him. Someone who was willing to keep a man satisfied in her place, someone who would give up their own soulmate because a friend asked her to. And I wanted to vomit, at all these people who were turning their backs on destiny, hurting good people without even realizing it. But then it hit me. What if I took her away? She must have been chosen because she fit the bill. Elegant, wealthy, intelligent. What if I took her away, took away Dev’s solace, took away Balraj’s pride? Then he would be left with nothing. And then he would understand.”

Zafar stops for a moment, letting out a long breath. “What wasn’t supposed to happen was how much I would actually grow to care for her. How spending time with her became what I looked forward to. How many interesting thoughts she had on everything, and how I loved to listen to her talk. How I loved to watch her walk away, but I also wondered if she arrived home safe. And how much I wanted her to think of me in the same way.”

“I do.” Roop approaches him again, but Zafar ducks his head. “I do,” she says again, insistent, but her voice is so small it doesn’t carry any weight. “I care about you so much, Zafar, you don’t understand, I--”

“But that’s the problem, you see.” Zafar keeps his eyes on his feet. “As my feelings for you made themselves more present, I realized I was turning into the very thing I despised, the very thing I always told myself I would never become.” When he looks up at her again, it’s only his eyes that move, and there is so much internal hate that Roop just wants to reach out and caress his face, pull the pain out from inside of him and throw it into the fire.

“I was depriving you of continuing your search for your soulmate. I was depriving you the opportunity to strengthen your bond with him, to fall even deeper in love with him than you already are. I was depriving myself of my own soulmate. I was abandoning her, when I had no reason or right to. This woman who has been nothing but kind and supportive and _there_ through every terrible decision I’ve made, every awful thought I’ve had. So forget about the fact that being with me would destroy you. Forget about the fact that I cannot offer you anything but pain. What I feel for you is a drop of water in comparison to the ocean inside of me with the love I have for her. And I will not become like those other men. I refuse to. So it has been wonderful, this time we’ve spent together, Roop, but it has to end. You have enough information to write an article, to create a beautiful story. But this, between us, has to end here. We can’t keep leading each other on like this. We can’t keep doing this to each other. I’m choosing my soulmate. And I’m letting you choose yours. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t flinch as he turns towards his work, his back to her. Roop simply stands there, awestruck. His story, about his parents being soulmates but his father abandoning the family when Zafar was born out of fear for his reputation, matches almost perfectly to the one her soulmate told her long ago. She has her confirmation. She has her answer. And now all she needs to do is go in for the kill.

 _I love you_.

She barely breathes as she sends the thought to him, to whoever’s listening even if it’s somehow not him. She can’t ruin this by giving herself away. So when Zafar suddenly stops moving, when every muscle in his body freezes, she folds her hands and grips tight, taking all of her strength not to burst.

It is him.

And slowly, he turns around. He looks at her with wide eyes and what is probably confusion, but in her anxious state feels like malice.

“What did you say?” It’s a harsh, terrified whisper. The anxious part of Roop claims she’s wrong. But she can’t be. He heard her.

“Nothing.” Stiff, no emotion. Zafar glares at her and turns back around, lifting his tools and resuming his work.

Again. _I love you_. Metal clangs unexpectedly loud as Zafar drops everything in frustration. He spins towards her again, holding a finger in Roop’s face in accusation.

“You keep saying this,” he says, breathing hard. “And you keep lying. You don’t tell a man you love him and then say you didn’t. What is wrong with you?” He might as well be screaming, with the angry, betrayed tone in his voice, and Roop wants to cower away from him. “What is it, then? Do you love me? Do you not? Do you want to announce it in the streets? Or do you regret it? Or do you take it back? Huh? Don’t play these games with me, Roop, which is it?”

The anxiety in her now clarifies itself. She is right about this dire, important thing, that he is who she thinks. But Zafar, her soulmate, the voice in her head, was placating her. Telling her pretty things with no merit, building up false hope that a man she’s never met would feel so strongly and deeply for her. Nothing he said was genuine. None of it was real. But her heart is stronger, her feelings for him the most powerful force in the world at this moment. So she plows on.

“I didn’t _say_ anything.” Her voice is thick with emotion now, a full 180 swing. But her eyes don’t waver, locked on Zafar’s, whose eyebrows now narrow. One more time.

 _I love you_.

Zafar’s eyes immediately widen, his thick eyebrows rising as far as they will go. He stumbles back, one hand shooting out to brace himself against the table to keep from falling. He’s breathing as if he just ran to the other side of town and back. But he understands. And it takes all of Roop’s strength not to fall apart.

After what feels like an eternity, Zafar pushes himself away from the table. “You--” His mind is still short circuiting from the realization that Roop, _Roop_ , is his soulmate. He runs through every conversation he had with his soulmate over the last several months, and the dots connect themselves. Her marriage as a favor to a friend to support her family. Roop’s marriage to Dev to appease a dying Satya. Forgiving her family’s debts. His soulmate’s work for a newspaper. A contact who tries to bed her. Zafar’s revenge, seducing Roop. His way in as her guide around Hira Mandi for her article. His soulmate’s soft prayers for him in his head while he was fighting the bull. He remembers wondering how she could possibly know what he was doing. Because she was there. His soulmate’s love for another, and how she chose to stay faithful to him. Because he and this other she loved were one and the same.

How could he have been so blind?

His thoughts tumble over themselves so fast, none can form themselves into coherent words, and it’s not worth it to try and communicate with her now that he knows he can. But she nods in response to his small attempt, squeezing her wet eyes shut, threatening to spill over. And in some odd twist, this broken girl in front of him settles his mind and eases everything. The shock turns into exhilarated joy, filling him up with warmth, smoothing the angry creases in his face, morphing into the tiniest of smiles. When Roop opens her eyes, she pulls her lips into her mouth, visibly shaking with restraint. Zafar just wants to scoop her up and wipe her eyes and whisper sweet nothings both out loud and in her head, where no one can hear. So he might as well start now.

**I love you.**

He already has confirmation. Her reaction shouldn’t surprise him. But when Roop finally lets go, her relief and pent up panic releasing in a wave of tears and choked back sobs with a hand covering her mouth, Zafar has his own moment of light before bounding the two step distance between them and folding her into his arms.

He cradles her head against his shoulder, his other arm secure but not tight around her lower back. Roop’s face is pressed into his neck, crying openly. Her arms had dropped when Zafar came close to her, securing them around his torso, and now she clings to him as if she needs him to hold herself steady, as if her life depends on it. He presses his face into her hair, shushing her, slowly guiding them to sit on the floor after long moments of this. She sags against him, and Zafar holds up her entire body, moving his hand from her head to run up and down her back in long strokes, whispering to her in her head.

**I’m here. I’m here with you. I’ve got you. I love you.**

This seems to just make her cry harder, squeeze him tighter. Her hands claw at his back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. Her face is buried into his neck, cutting off her breathing a bit, making her cries come out even more strangled. But she needs this closeness, his touch. His arms are strong and solid around her, his muscles a wall of protection around her body, safe, secure, exactly how she imagined it would feel to be in his embrace.

When her breathing finally calms after several minutes, he asks her.

**How long have you known?**

She sniffles against his shirt. _Two days._ He can feel a shy smile spread on her face where it’s pressed into his shoulder. _When you described what you look like. All I could see was you. But I doubted myself, even if I could connect everything together easily. It was just now, when you told me about your parents and the story matched perfectly that I knew for sure._

Zafar reacts on instinct. He smiles like the sun, his arms tighten around her, he presses his lips to the top of her head. This one small act sends waves of emotion through Roop. His lips are somehow deliciously soft and chapped at the same time. She wants to feel them with her fingertips, for him to press them against her mouth, her skin, every inch of her skin, including the expanses hidden beneath her clothes. She wants to feel his lips on her all the time.

A thrill runs through her. She shivers, pushing her body impossibly closer to his, more silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Zafar brushes his lips across her forehead, not quite a kiss but enough to settle deep into her bones.

“Premika…” he whispers against her skin, and the breath Roop lets out is wet and uneven.

“My Juno…” she sobs quietly against him, and Zafar’s arms fold her in deeper.

“Your Juno is here,” he says, his voice still soft, but the emotion behind it is firm. “And he will never leave you.” Roop lets out another quiet sob, but Zafar can feel her smile against his neck, and he buries his face into her hair.

“Zafar.” He hears his boss and begrudgingly lifts his head, separates himself from her. Roop unwinds her body from his, keeping a distance from him, tucking loose, fallen pieces of her braid behind her ear. Zafar is cold from the loss of her.

“Take the day. Go home. Have your way with her.”

There’s a gleam in his eyes, and Zafar’s own eyes widen at the prospect of getting to take her home, be completely alone with her, finally. But Roop immediately tenses next to him, and Zafar registers the vulgar language his boss used, and he faces her again.

**We do nothing you aren’t comfortable with.**

Roop looks up at him, something like fear and anxiety still in her eyes. He leans down, cupping the back of her head with one hand and pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. She sucks in a sharp breath, and it comes out ragged. He makes his breaths slow and deep, keeping his voice and thoughts silent, but willing her to match with him. Her eyes close, and she follows him, breathing steady, calming quicker than expected. Her shoulders relax, and Zafar can practically feel the stress leave her body.

He opens his eyes a fraction and repeats. **We do nothing you aren’t comfortable with. We don’t even have to go if you don’t want to.**

She pulls her lips into her mouth. _I want to._

Zafar’s eyes open fully, and Roop’s are big and brown and wide. He can sense the fear creeping back, but of rejection rather than anything close to an assault she might have been panicked about before. When she relaxes her mouth, her lips are a deep pink, plump, and all Zafar wants to do is kiss her.

He lets out a slow breath through his mouth. **Okay.** He gently unwinds his arms. **Let me go change.**

The expression that crosses her face is as if she completely forgot he was in his work clothes, that he was covered in ash and dirt. She ducks her head, blushing, sitting back on her heels.

 _Okay._ And now Zafar doesn’t want to leave her. But he does, slowly standing and walking into the back room. Roop watches him go, her hands folded in her lap, chewing her lower lip. She watches the curtain that separates the workers’ room from the main floor, waiting for it to part again and bring her soulmate back to her.

God, her soulmate. He’s real. He’s here. It’s going to take her so long to get used to it, so long to believe it.

She knows no one in the shop has taken their eyes off the couple since they realized what was happening. She knows they continue to stare at her as she continues to stare at the curtain. But she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything right now except Zafar, and him coming back to her as quickly as he can.

Finally, the curtain parts, and Zafar returns, in white pants and a blue tunic so pale it could nearly be white as well. Roop stands instantly, her eyes lighting up, her smile beaming, her whole being illuminated in happiness. It must bleed into Zafar, because his smile could light up every single street in Husnabad.

He approaches her and offers her his hand. She takes it, threading their fingers together. They walk out hand in hand, down the slope of Hira Mandi’s main street, stealing glances at each other and blushing as if they’re a newly married couple. It feels like they are. It’s the only thing that could come anywhere near close to this bliss between them.

Some passersby watch them. Everyone in Hira Mandi knows Zafar, and they’re probably wondering why Zafar is publicly strolling with a woman, moon-eyed over her instead of lustful. Roop feels a sense of pride that it’s her who he’s with, her who’s captured his heart so quickly, who’s had it for so long.

 **Are they making you uncomfortable?** She turns her head towards him, and there’s concern in his eyes that quickly morphs into something more wicked. **They’re just jealous.**

She laughs. _I don’t know if I’d say that. I don’t know if they should be. But I’m not bothered by them. Shouldn’t they know that you’re mine?_

It’s playful, but there’s confidence in her thought, and so much truth. She falls a bit backwards as she continues down the slope, and turns to see Zafar has stopped walking, his outstretched arm unintentionally pulling her towards him. He’s looking at her with the same awe and wonder he did in the shop, that he seems to always have done in the last few weeks. But now there’s shock, astonishment, fascination. A new kind of realization. She scrunches her eyebrows at him.

 **Yours** , is all she hears from him. And then, a few seconds later, **Mine.** And something bigger than simply peace settles over Roop, something stronger than comfort, contentment. It’s as if heaven itself just opened up to her, manifested itself in this man in front of her, calling to her, beckoning her forward. She climbs back up the slope and stands on her toes to press her forehead against Zafar’s. His smile takes up his entire face--it’s the biggest and brightest Roop has ever seen from him. He cups her face and kisses the center of her forehead, and she holds his wrist, keeping him there for a moment, this glorious feeling amplified now that he’s touching her. His hands are rough and calloused, as she expected, and his beard tickles her skin. He pulls her up into a hug, his arms around her shoulders, face once again pressed into her hair. She could stay in his arms forever, but she’s still up high on her toes and has to pull back sooner than she would have liked. But he takes her hand again and falls into step alongside her.

He helps her into the carriage first, still not letting go of her hand until she’s seated, and then climbs in himself. He gives the driver his address, and then they are quiet, still bashful, looking at each other and then looking away. And even though they are sitting next to each other, an arm and a leg touching in this close proximity, Roop can’t be close enough to him. So she threads her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. His head gently lays on top of hers, his free hand laying over hers that rest in between them.

 _I can’t believe it’s you,_ she thinks for the hundredth time that afternoon, but now sends it to him, and he kisses the top of her head again, and she buries herself further into him.

 **I should have realized it sooner.** His nose stays pressed into her hair. **It makes so much sense. I’m sorry.**

She shakes her head and holds him tighter. _No. No apologizing. This is what they mean when everyone says it has to happen naturally. We fell in love with each other over years, and in person before we realized who we were to each other. We’re together now. That’s what matters._

He kisses her hair again. **I love you so much.**

 _I love you too._ She has to hold her breath for a few seconds to keep from crying again. By consequence, she holds onto Zafar’s arm even tighter, and he runs his free hand over hers, across her wrist, along her arm and to her elbow, up and down in slow motions. She starts to breathe easier, focusing instead on how well their bodies fit together, even in the cramped space of the carriage. It’s as if he’s her missing piece, her other half, something she’s never fully understood in all the years she’s known him until now, until they were finally together. She rolls over how he called himself hers in the street, and it fills her with such intense pleasure she thinks she might melt. Everything feels more intense with Zafar, she realizes. His touch sends sparks over her entire body, his lips on her skin cover her in bright light and buzzing energy. Even just being in his presence, standing close to him sends an electric current through her. Nothing close to that ever happened with anyone, certainly not the other men who came to her door for her hand, whom she played games with to try and find her soulmate as soon as possible.

Suddenly, she lifts her head.

“Can you do something for me?”

Zafar raises his eyebrows, purses his lips. “Of course.”

“Guess what number I’m thinking of.” And she scrunches up her face, shuts her eyes, and Zafar just laughs.

“What’s this for?”

“I’ve done this with every man who I thought might be my soulmate. You must have heard this sometimes.” Zafar’s face lights up in recognition, and he nods.

“I do,” he says. And then he frowns. “But we know…”

“Please?” Her shoulders drop, and the wrinkles in her face flatten out. She keeps her eyes shut. “For me?”

Zafar chuckles again. He nods again, even if she can’t see. “Sure.”

She smiles bright, quickly morphing back to her hard thinking face, and Zafar laughs again, kissing her nose. He keeps his face close, pausing as he thinks. When he answers, it’s more confident than anyone she’s ever played this with.

“146.31 crore.”

Her face relaxes in disbelief, her mouth falling open. He leans back as she opens her eyes. He cocks his eyebrows. She smiles, warm.

“My turn,” he adds, adjusting in his seat and squeezing his eyes shut almost identical to what she had done. She giggles and kisses his cheek. His skin is soft against her mouth, but his beard tickles her face. The corners of his mouth curl up.

And she hears it.

**417.**

“417.” Zafar’s grin fills up his face. Roop giggles again. Zafar cups her face and presses kisses across her forehead, down her temple to her cheek, creeping down to her jaw, stretching back to her ear. She can feel him breathe against her, her own breathing coming in harsh gasps. Her body reacts on its own, chest rising to press against him, head arching back so he can kiss her neck. But he doesn’t. His breath is loud in her ear until he pulls away, pressing their foreheads together once again. Roop’s hand snakes up and around to thread into Zafar’s hair, keeping him close, their noses brushing. Zafar holds her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, their breath mingling, and it takes everything in Roop not to give into the magnetic pull.

The carriage lurches to a halt under them, and they jump, separating. Zafar clears his throat and adjusts his tunic before exiting the carriage and extending a hand to help Roop down. She turns to the driver.

“Come back at nightfall,” she says with a sweet smile. He nods and drives away. Roop and Zafar eye each other for a moment before Zafar leads her inside and up the stairs, never letting go of her hand.

Zafar’s home is very small. There isn’t much in terms of furnishing except for a table and chairs in the kitchen and a few shelves in the entryway. Beyond that are two doors leading to other rooms. If this was any other day, if Zafar was anyone else, she would consider his shelves, the things on them, ask questions, learn about them, learn about him. But her eyes are on the doors, as if something behind them is calling to her, luring her in. One room must be the bathroom. The other has to be his bedroom.

Roop is numb as Zafar leads her forward, deeper inside.

There isn’t much to Zafar’s bedroom either. Aside from a few more shelves and a floor to ceiling window that opens onto a balcony, the bed takes up nearly the entire space. Roop steps towards it as if it’s a creature who will attack her, their hands still joined behind her. She doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly so apprehensive. This was the goal. This was the ultimate fantasy. This is the inevitable end result of that fantasy. And Zafar has been nothing but tender and loving and sweet since long before she had any hints that it could be him. So what is she so worried about?

A warm body presses against her back, strong hands running up and down her arms, Zafar’s nose in her hair, lightly tracing the contours of her face. Roop smiles, all of her anxieties disappearing.

 **I’m sorry.** She can feel him smile against her cheek. **Now that I have you, I can’t be apart from you. I only want to be close to you, I will lose my mind if I can’t touch you. I can’t get enough of you.**

She turns back to him, and he takes a few steps back to give her some room. He is looking at her with pleading eyes, big and warm, filled with nothing but devotion for her. He gently guides her towards him, taking both of her hands in his and kissing them, placing smaller ones on the backs of her fingers.

 **You have nothing to be scared of, Premika,** he tells her as his lips move, and Roop gasps softly. **I will take care of you. I will protect you, now and always.**

As Zafar lifts his head, Roop shakes hers and takes another step closer. _I have been dreaming of this moment for my entire life. And now it’s here. I am not afraid. I am ready. I have been waiting for you for a very long time._

Zafar’s eyes shine, and Roop wonders if there are unshed tears. It makes her heart lift. One of his hands comes up to brush back her hair.

 **My love.** She gasps again, a watery, trembling breath. An instant smile brightens her face at the name, her eyes lightly closing. **Please. Let me kiss you.**

Her eyes flutter open, momentarily entranced by the suggestion, by the thought. She needs it so desperately. She has been craving it for years, for practically her entire life, this chance to be close to him. And now she has it. Hopefully she has the rest of her life to do it. But Roop has never been one to miss an opportunity. Desire courses through her veins so strongly that before she can talk herself out of it, she leans forward and kisses him.

At once, she pulls back. Both are dazed from it, but Roop comes to first, slowly opening her eyes. Zafar’s eyes remain closed, lips slightly parted, almost still in a pucker. Roop giggles at this, and Zafar’s eyes fly open, his lips spreading into a grin, and Roop’s laughter quickly tapers off, embarrassed. Zafar closes his lips, his hands dropping to Roop’s hips and pulling her flush against his body. She yelps in surprise, dissolving into laughter again, hands resting on Zafar’s shoulders. He simply watches her, taking her in, and as her gaze meets his, he slides his hands to her waist, to wrap around her lower back. In turn, Roop’s arms slide around his neck. Zafar once again gives her the power to make the move, but when she leans in, he eagerly meets her in the middle, tightening his arms around her, kissing her with all the sweetness in him.

This feeling that instantly envelopes them is intense and passionate and bright and new, for the both of them. Roop’s lips are soft as pillows, sweet as candy, incredibly pliant and responsive as they move against Zafar’s. It feels as if every nerve ending is more sensitive than usual, picking up on every brush of skin, every breath Roop sighs against his mouth, every movement of her fingers as they thread into his hair, and it makes him dizzy with desire, vibrate with need. It’s as if his very soul, the core of his being, is reaching out for her, desperate for her to be as close to him as can be, impossibly so with how tight their arms are locked around each other, how their bodies are practically fused together. All from one kiss. With all the women Zafar has ever been with, nothing has ever felt like this.

They stand there for what feels like hours, simply kissing. Roop doesn’t know how long it’s been when she has to separate from him to get some air. She all but collapses against his shoulder, and Zafar laughs in her ear, kissing it, the side of her head, and Roop laughs, out of breath. Her arms drop from where her hands were tangled in his hair, now hanging limply over his shoulders. Somehow, she gets the strength back to stand back up straight and wrap her arms more securely around Zafar’s neck. She leans her forehead against his, and they both smile, content, breathing together for long moments. He leans back a bit after a while and brushes a loose piece of her hair back.

**You look far more beautiful with your hair down…**

Roop remembers the line from that day on the lake. She smiles, a little mischievous, and pulls her braid around so it rests over her shoulder. She gently removes the elastic band holding it in places and begins unwinding the strands. Zafar’s eyes widen and his hand drops, taking a small step back, as if he’d momentarily forgotten she could hear him. She just meets his eyes once and returns to the task at hand.

Roop’s hair is very long, and it takes her a bit of time and care before her hair is completely loose. She pushes it all back behind her, shakes her head to bring the volume back to her hair, and brings a few sections back in front of her shoulders to frame her face, knowing she looks best that way.

It falls in loose waves, some natural, some created by the tight pull of the braid. It cascades down, never ending, nearly reaching her waist, and Zafar takes a few moments to marvel at her, Roop getting more comfortable with the attention by the second, before he takes the step forward to return to her. He’s gentle at first, one hand coming up to trace the hair at the edge of her face with the tips of his fingers. Back up to run his whole hand down the side of her head, feeling its softness, and Roop blushes at the intimacy of it. And then both of his hands sink into her hair, right at the root, barely massaging her scalp. Roop sucks in a breath in surprise, but his hands are so strong, it feels so good in a way she’s never felt before, and her eyes can’t help but close, her head lolling back, the breath releasing along with a small noise of delight. Zafar laughs once, dark with amusement, intoxicating, and he guides her towards him. Roop is helpless, practically falling forward, willingly falling into him as her hands slide around his waist, up to his back and he seals his mouth over hers once again.

 **You are the most beautiful woman to ever walk the face of the earth.** Roop whines at this, a burst of a smile making it difficult to kiss for a moment. **You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.** She hums against his mouth, and the feeling of it lights Zafar up from within, letting her hair go and sliding his hands to cup the back of her head, the base of her jaw, pulling her flush against him and kissing her with such energy and passion. Roop responds in earnest, tightening her arms around his back, but he slows them down before either of them can get too winded again. It’s just as well, because after more slow, languid kisses, Zafar swipes his tongue across Roop’s lips, and she melts against him.

His mouth retreats as he chuckles, and Roop’s knees literally buckle, overwhelmed with sensation. Each of his arms wrap around her lower and upper back to hold her up, his higher hand pulling back the hair that had fallen in her face once he has her steady. His laughter rings out, and it’s infectious. Roop giggles and latches her arms back around his neck, too engulfed in her pleasure to feel any kind of embarrassment. When she stands still and straight and he kisses her again, they let it build before he sweeps his tongue over her lips again, and this time she opens up to him. Her lips part slightly and Zafar gently works her open, slipping his tongue inside her mouth. She welcomes him, holding onto him tight, keeping her jaw slack as he explores. Her own comes up to meet his, and a growl emits from somewhere deep in Zafar’s chest. He holds her tighter, his fingers fisting into her hair. Roop’s mind goes blank except for his body against hers, his mouth staking its claim over her, this primal desire that comes from somewhere deep within her she never knew existed. Nothing matters except for him. Nothing exists except for this moment, this thing so perfect and right that she feels it in the deepest parts of her heart, filling her head and her stomach, pooling down between her thighs. 

“You are very good at this,” he says quietly, close to her mouth that she can feel the vibrations of his words against her lips, and it sends another shockwave through her system. His voice is low, husky, and she realizes it’s the first time either of them have spoken since they arrived here. She laughs, a bit embarrassed, and hides her face in Zafar’s shoulder again. He says nothing, just combs his fingers through her hair and smiles against her, letting their momentum carry them into a slow moving sway, staying like that for a while.

 **Would you like to lay on the bed with me?** he asks after a while. Roop tenses a bit, the same worries and anxieties creeping back in her head from earlier. But she shuts them down. She knows now that Zafar will take care of her, will never hurt her. And he desires her, just as much as she does him. So she looks up into his eyes as she regretfully unwinds herself from him. She holds his gaze as she takes as many steps backwards as she can before she thinks she will knock into something. And then she turns and climbs on the bed, crawling to the center and lying on her back, her head against the pillows, softer than she expected, her hand running along the space of sheets next to her, her gaze warm, inviting. Zafar simply admires her.

**You look perfect.**

_It would feel more perfect if you come and join me. You would look more perfect if you were close to me, where you belong._

Zafar grins and slowly climbs on next to her. He keeps his knees on one side of her, but his upper body hovers over her. He threads their fingers together and presses her hands into the pillows on either side of her head, keeping him steady and her almost immobile. Their eyes never leave each other the entire time.

 **Is this alright?** He watches her intently, instantly calming when he sees her nod and smile, and he returns it, leaning down and sealing his mouth over hers once again.

Carefully, he lowers his chest to rest against hers, and she moans with delight. He smiles against her mouth, letting his tongue slide past her lips once again, and she gladly accepts him, joining him in a slow dance. They stay like this for a long time. Zafar eventually lets her hands go to barricade her head with his forearms and somehow get closer to her. Now Roop is free to cup Zafar’s jaw, card her fingers through his hair, kiss him deeper. They keep it slow, unhurried. Time doesn’t exist for them anymore. It’s only this paradise, this oasis, this small universe that is all their own, consisting of nothing but their hearts and their bodies and their souls and their love.

When Zafar starts to place soft kisses on her neck, Roop nearly loses control completely, arching up into him, the feeling going directly to her center. But it’s only these few--Zafar lays his head against her shoulder for a short moment before separating from her completely. He hovers over her briefly, and then he pushes himself off of her, lying next to her on his stomach. Her body collapses back onto the bed, breathing hard, keeping her eyes closed as she calms and readjusts to something closer to the real world. When she finally opens her eyes, she turns to where Zafar rests next to her. He is also catching his breath, but he looks at her with the same wonder he has since they were at the blacksmith’s shop. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours ago that they were there, friends with feelings they couldn’t act on, were choosing not to act on. And now they were here, soulmates, their hearts intertwined as their bodies lie so close together.

Roop lets a smile spread over her face as she thinks about how quick the change came, and how happy she is about it. Her hands are still splayed up next to her head, and Zafar smiles brightly as he takes her right one in his and kisses the back of it, creating a trail across her wrist and down half the length of her forearm. She giggles the entire time, and he gently sets her arm down, keeping a hold of her hand. They simply look at each other for a few moments. The sun casts a comforting warmth over them. Zafar’s face glows in the light.

“Can I ask you something?” Zafar requests quietly. Roop’s smile dims a fraction, but she nods.

“What if I wasn’t your soulmate? If you truly were caught between your love for me and your love for the man who was made for you. Who would you choose?”

Roop shuts her thoughts from Zafar as she dwells on this. She thinks back to their conversation days ago, how her soulmate chose her over the other mystery woman, and how she followed suit, choosing him in return. She knows who her choice would be, if the statistically probable scenario came true, and Zafar & her soulmate were, in fact, two different people. She knows who she would choose. She has a feeling he knows, too.

“I would choose my soulmate.”

It’s quiet, cracked, because it pains her to say it. But Zafar just sighs, nods, and his grip on her hand doesn’t waver.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” There’s no inflection of disappointment. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

Roop’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Why?”

Zafar blinks once, but otherwise the emotion doesn’t change in his face. “Because I still don’t think I’m good for you.”

“What?!” Roop turns on her side so she’s facing him fully. Her free hand comes up to his face. “But we’re soulmates.”

“It doesn’t always matter. Look what happened to Dev and his wife.”

“Satya got sick. No one could control that.”

“Look what happened to my parents. To my father. What he did.”

“Your father is not a good person.”

“And what does that say about me?” There’s no edge to his voice, and this scares Roop more than if he had truly expressed this anger and frustration. “What evidence do you have that I’m not just like him?”

“I have practically an entire lifetime of evidence.” Roop is surprised that her voice is the one that gets hard and tense first, and Zafar’s eyes widen, surprised as much as she is. “I am filled to the brim with memories of you being the complete opposite of the way your father has been since I’ve known him, the opposite of the way you’ve described him. My memories of you are nothing but good. Your words give me butterflies. Your touch sends a thrill through my entire body, and makes me feel alive. And yet you have never crossed any boundaries, even the unspoken ones. Just now, you sought my consent before laying yourself over me. That alone is commendable.

“You are so tender and kind. Your heart is big, and soft. Even days ago, when you had to choose between your soulmate and me, you chose your soulmate. And there’s your proof. Zafar, you are _nothing_ like your father. You may have your bad parts, but they are nothing in comparison to your good parts. You are righteous and loyal and good, and I love you with everything in me.”

There is still a lingering sadness hidden in Zafar’s eyes. “What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” Roop says firm, non negotiable.

“You don’t know that. I can’t guarantee it.”

“Love is not a guarantee. Love is a promise that you spend your whole life trying to keep.”

Zafar blinks a few times before carefully scooting towards Roop again. She folds him into her arms, face in her neck, head on her shoulder, one hand around his back, the other running through his hair. He sighs as he closes his eyes and loosely holds her waist.

“I will always love you. And I will never hurt you. I promise.” She cups his face and gently kisses his cheekbone, the skin below his eye.

“I was right that day on the balcony,” he adds. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush.” She enunciates this with a kiss to his head. “You deserve love and happiness and everything good in the world.”

Zafar smiles softly and snuggles himself closer, and it’s so innocent that Roop can’t help but giggle again. They don’t move for a while, this thing too vulnerable to break, too sweet to stop. It’s only a few minutes before Zafar speaks again.

“Can you do something for me?”

Roop smiles against his hair. “Anything,” she sighs. He pulls back a bit to look at her.

“Will you sing for me?”

She chuckles once softly, strokes his face. His eyes are big and brown, almost golden as the sun begins to set past Zafar’s window. There’s the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks, as if only a fraction of him is embarrassed by his own request. Roop lightly pushes at his arm so they can both sit up, Zafar on his knees, Roop with her hands lightly folded in front of her. One of her hands came up to help her find the right note, in typical Bahaar Begum fashion, already picking her song choice. Her eyes fall closed as she begins, keeping the melody slow and lilting. Even if she can’t see it, she can feel the immediate relaxation exuding from Zafar’s entire body, and in her curious nature, she cracks one eye open.

It’s probably the most content and peaceful Roop had ever seen him. His eyes are now gently closed, shoulders relaxed, practically swaying to her music as if hypnotized by it. A laugh makes its way into her song, and Zafar’s soft smile grows bigger, a little toothy. But after a few refrains, he sighs, lets himself lean forward to rest against Roop’s shoulder, her chest, and Roop yelps in surprise, laughing high and loud. She presses her face into his hair, stifling her giggles as Zafar runs his nose along the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, breathing deep. Gently, she winds one arm around his torso, her other hand cupping the back of his head, and rearranges their bodies. She sits up a little straighter, her legs still sidesaddle, gently laying Zafar down on his back so his head is resting in her lap. Her left hand props her body up, her right resting again on Zafar’s face, stroking the hard lines of his cheekbones. He breathes out, serene, his own hand coming up to lightly hold Roop’s wrist. She smiles at the intimacy of it, and continues.

“Ghar more pardesiya  
Aao padhaaro piya…”

They watch each other, Zafar’s mind finally quiet, lulled by the sweetness in her voice and the warmth of her gaze. When she finishes, Zafar’s other hand comes up and gently strokes her hair, his hand snaking around to the back of her head. She lets him guide her down, kissing his forehead, the spot between his eyebrows. When she pulls back, his head lifts towards hers, seeking her lips, and she bends down again towards him, letting him claim them. He pushes himself up with his hands, and she moves with him, holding his head, keeping him locked with her. His arms come around her upper back, and they wrap themselves in each other again. And they disappear for hours into each other, lost in this pleasure trance they’ve created. They only pull back to admire each other, touching skin and hair softly, tentatively, as if they are still afraid to, as if they still can’t believe they can. Roop lets him place more kisses on her neck, soft ones, and more rougher, a bit painful, as if he is branding her with his love, but she happily welcomes it, tiny sounds of pleasure releasing from deep in her throat, urging him even close to her. In between the caresses, they whisper sweet nothings, words of praise and awe covered in the most saccharine of honeys, and about a thousand “I love you”s. A million utterances of it could never be enough.

By the time night eventually falls, Zafar has sunk deep into the pillows, Roop above him. Zafar holds her upper body against his chest, despite not being fully on top of him. Their legs are a tangle, their lips are fused together, in sync as they dance, their hands are slow and wandering. Zafar touches her hair, her skin, her clothing, every area Roop will let him. Roop runs her hands over his chest, his shoulders, holds his face as if she seeks to bring him impossibly closer to her. When the moon makes its presence in the window known, the trot of the horses on the street below carry up to them, and Roop reluctantly pushes herself up away from Zafar.

“I have to go,” she whispers with a sad smile. Zafar looks at her with feigned confusion. He heard the whinny as clearly as she did. But his hands, which had fallen away from her hair and body as she sat up, reach for her again.

“No,” he says in a voice close to desperation. He shakes his head. “No you don’t.” One hand cups the back of her head, the other circles her waist, and she laughs as he guides her back down to him, burying his nose into the curve between her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair that had fallen there.

“No,” he whines, quiet, muffled. “No, stay.” His arms tighten around her, as if he’s protecting her from some kind of evil outside force, and she slips an arm under him to wrap around his neck. She kisses the side of his head.

“I will come back,” she affirms. “I promise.” He sighs.

“So many promises.” He feigns annoyance but lets her go enough for her to sit up. They take their time standing and fixing their clothing. Roop uses the hair tie that held her braid in to tie her hair back into a ponytail. When she looks up, Zafar can’t get enough of her cuteness, and finds himself sweeping her back up into his arms, kissing her cheeks repeatedly, Roop dissolving into a giggling mess. But they force themselves to separate, keeping their hands locked together as they walk downstairs.

 **Maybe not too many promises…** Zafar sends her as they approach the carriage. Roop’s eyebrows crinkle as she turns to face him.

_What?_

The momentum of their walk still causes their hands to swing a bit back and forth. **We talked so much about promises. Love is a promise that you spend your whole life trying to keep. I made you a promise, what feels like so long ago, and if you still want me, I’d like to keep it.**

 _Of course I want you._ She takes a step closer, still not understanding. But in an instant, she flashes back to a conversation she had with him, in what truly does feel like a completely different lifetime. She was broken, hopeless, sent to be with someone she never met, knew nothing about, and he gave her guidance. A balm to her wounded soul. A vow.

**You fulfill your friend’s wishes, but the moment you discover your soulmate is the moment you end your marriage. And if you’re worried about the livelihood of your sisters, we will marry immediately after.**

Roop’s eyes widen with the realization. Her deal is over. This is their time. And Zafar just smiles at her, more than willing to take the leap with her.

She throws her arms around his neck and stands on her toes to kiss him passionately. He stumbles back a step, but his arms are around her waist right away, kissing her back with just as much enthusiasm. This kiss is frantic and wild, completely unlike anything they did in Zafar’s room. But when she sends him a quiet _Yes_ over and over and over again, he smiles so wide that it not only becomes frenzied but difficult to continue. Roop slows them down, letting her lips linger against Zafar’s for longer, breathy giggles creating another bubble of nirvana around them.

“Oy, Zafar!” someone calls from behind Roop. She turns, annoyed. A neighbor watches them from his balcony, leaning over the edge, peering at them. Roop sneers at him. The only reason she doesn’t yell at him is the weight of Zafar’s hands as they stay on her lower back.

“Keep your concubines and your promiscuous escapades inside, nah?” the neighbor continues, and Roop’s whole body lights up in anger. Zafar’s fingers dig into her waist, holding her back before she can respond.

“Bhaiyya, she’s not a courtesan,” Zafar replies with a smile. “She’s my soulmate.” His voice takes on a dreamy tone as he pulls her slightly closer, and his neighbor’s mood instantly changes.

“Hey, congratulations, bhai!” he says, and Roop smiles now, a bit bashful, leaning into Zafar. “I’ll leave you be, then.” And he goes inside.

Zafar presses his nose into Roop’s hair. “We have to get you home,” he mumbles against her, and slowly unwinds his arms from around her. Roop doesn’t think it’s a good idea to counter how she doesn’t think of the grand house in the middle of Husnabad as home anymore, that she never has, that she can’t now that she has found Zafar and he has brought her more peace, stability, and reassurance in a few hours than she ever had in the months living there. She simply steps up into the carriage and lets Zafar close the door behind her. She folds her arms over the edge of the door and rests her chin on top of her hands. Zafar’s hands come up and rest on either side of her. The carriage is low enough to the ground that, like this, they are eye level.

They lean in at the same time, their lips meeting in one sweet, lasting kiss.

 _I love you_ , she sends when they pull back, because she can, because she can’t help herself. He smiles, so gentle, so beautiful.

 **I love you too.** And before he can lose himself in her again, he takes a few steps back, and the carriage starts to pull away. Roop lays her head on her arms, angled towards where Zafar stands, and she watches him as his figure shrinks with the distance. Zafar stays still, looking at her just as longingly, until the carriage turns a corner and he is out of sight.

Roop sits up, moving her body completely back inside, leaning back and closing her eyes. A smile spreads on her face as she starts to replay the events of the afternoon, but it doesn’t last long before a familiar voice, now in more ways than one, fills her head.

**How pathetic am I that I already miss you?**

Roop laughs out loud. She can just see him still standing outside his home, hands on his hips, shaking his head, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling, just making him look all the more inviting. And now that she knows what his lips can do, and will hopefully learn more, her floor length skirt is suddenly too constricting.

_Are you calling this relationship pathetic?_

**No, of course not! I just…**

_I know. Big, strong man thinks it’s too ladylike to moon over his girlfriend._

**You are so much more to me than just a girlfriend.**

_I know that, too. And I know you have a romantic side. You said so yourself. And now I know you’re capable of immense affection and sweetness. There’s nothing wrong with that. But if it’s any consolation, I miss you too. So much._

She swears she can hear him whine. **Come back…**

She giggles. _I will, as soon as I can. But I still have a duty to uphold. And I need to do some things on my own if you plan to keep your promise._

She hopes he understands what she’s talking about. Ending her marriage. Filling out papers to end it. She needs Dev to do that. Hell, she needs to tell him in the first place.

Again, she’s almost sure she can hear him whine like a toddler. **Fine. But you’d better come back to me as soon as you can.**

 _I will, I promise. You don’t have to beg._ And again, just because she can, _I love you, Juno._

**I love you, too, Premika. So much.**

Her body lights up, and she lets herself get carried away by the thought of him saying it to her in person, how his eyes would brighten, his smile growing warm and lazy, his hands reaching for her to pull her into him. The dream stays with her until the carriage pulls up to the front door. She walks inside, not even bothering to hide her smile.

“Roop!” Dev says in surprise when he sees her. “You’re finally home! It was starting to get late, no one knew why you had gone out in the first place, we were starting to get worried. Are you alright? Where were you?”

Roop can feel her cheeks start to turn red, ducking her head a bit, her smile hopefully giving the message that she’s more than alright. But she doesn’t get a chance to properly answer before Balraj joins them, far more angry than Dev.

“Roop!” he shouts, storming up to her. “Where the hell have you been all day?!”

Roop is taken aback by his fury, but with the knowledge that she did nothing wrong, she stands up straighter. “I need to check on something.”

“What could you possibly have needed to check on that took up all the hours in the afternoon?”

Her stance remains firm. “I had a hunch on who my soulmate was. I needed to see if I was right.”

Balraj’s expression hardens. But Dev’s brightens in curiosity.

“Were you?” he asks with genuine interest. Roop pulls her lips into her mouth to keep her smile from getting too big.

“Yes.”

Dev’s smile brightens his face and he puts a hand on her shoulder. “Congratulations,” he says. Balraj still doesn’t react.

“Do you...remember the agreement I made with Satya?” Roop speaks slowly, unable to look Dev directly in the eye. But he folds his hands and nods.

“I do, and I plan to uphold my end. We can start discussing things tomorrow.”

Roop nods.

“What?” Balraj interjects. “You’re just going to end your relationship over this?”

“There is no relationship,” Roop responds, agitated. “There never was. And this was the deal when we first married.”

“And you think I’m going to allow that?” Balraj sneers, nearly spitting in her face.

“I kept my end of the bargain. It’s your turn to keep yours.”

“I’m not letting you tear apart this family. I’m not letting you slander our name like that.”

“By leaving to be with my soulmate, my one and only, my true love? I would be doing no such thing!”

“Really,” Balraj counters, his voice now dripping with sarcasm. “How righteous and true could this man possibly be if he lets you leave him looking like this? With your hair a mess and your neck bruising as if he choked you?”

Roop’s hand flies up to her throat. So Zafar did leave marks. A blast of heat runs through her, excited at the thought. 

“It’s probably someone from Hira Mandi. Who else could it possibly be with you spending nearly every waking moment there? Probably one of those despicable Muslim bastards, they care so little for their community, it shouldn’t surprise me that they care even less for their women.”

In a blaze of anger, Roop takes the few steps to close the distance between her and her father-in-law and stares him in the face.

“My soulmate’s name is Zafar. He is Muslim. He works in the blacksmith’s shop in Hira Mandi. He loves me more than anything, more than you can ever imagine. And he’s your son.”

She can’t have this conversation anymore. So before anyone can respond, she storms away, up the stairs, into her room, more thankful than ever that she still has her own space. When she shuts the door behind her, she leans against it, letting her wrath dissipate. Still, she’s not sure what to tell Zafar about what just happened. The only thing she can think to say is _Your kisses on my neck left marks._

 **Are you in pain?** he asks. **Was that a mistake?**

And something in the worry in his voice flips her mood on its head. She thinks back to that space, his tongue on her skin, lips sucking her neck as if he was drawing her life force out of her, making her head empty. She wants that feeling again, all the time. She wants his mouth on her again, on every inch of her skin, under her clothes, all the secret places she’s left untouched just for him.

_No._

* * *

Roop is in almost constant communication with Zafar afterwards. Whenever she is not preoccupied with duties around the house or finishing the article, they are talking about anything and everything. They fall back into their old habits, making small talk, guiding each other through menial and difficult tasks, whispering sweet nothings to each other in the quiet darkness when the rest of the world has gone to sleep. It’s even more wonderful now that they can imagine their bodies lying next to each other, can picture each other’s faces looking at each other as they speak, can see their smiles as they hear them in their voices. They lose sleep, not wanting to let go of this vision that’s now become reality. But it’s worth it.

Roop and Dev go alone to start filling out divorce papers and talk to a lawyer. It’s not a one and done deal, which Roop hadn’t expected. But the minute details of money and assets are so boring and unnecessary--Dev can keep everything, for all she cares, it was his in the first place--that Roop fines herself tuning everything out on more than one occasion. She doesn’t try to contact Zafar--the smile that would plaster on her face would make it painfully obvious that she wasn’t listening. So she just lets her mind wander. But in one instance of this, as she thinks about her one afternoon with Zafar over again, she realizes she never heard him say it, point blank asking her to marry him. What if he was thinking of something else? There could have been hundreds of promises they made to each other over the years. Maybe something was more important to this. And the thought sends her into a spiral of worry.

So she and Dev take a break from the proceedings and she goes back to Hira Mandi for the first time since she and Zafar discovered each other.

It’s been less than a week since then, but it feels like a lifetime. So Roop digs through her closet, practically tears it apart trying to find something good to wear. After over ten minutes, all the way in the back, she pulls out an outfit she hasn’t worn since she arrived in Husnabad. A brown lehenga and matching brown, low cut top with red trimming. A red dupatta. She knows exactly where the jewels she would wear with this are, buried in her jewelry box. Everything has been pushed to the back for a reason. The last time she wore this outfit was when Satya came to her door and asked her to marry Dev.

She couldn’t wear it again--it brought back too many painful memories. But if she hadn’t made the agreement, she wouldn’t have come to Husnabad. And she never would have met Zafar. And then how long would it have taken for her to figure out who her soulmate was? Where would she be now if she hadn’t taken this leap of faith that everything would work out in the end?

Zafar was right all those months ago when he told her bad things came to an end. That every day that passed was a day closer to being together. She never thought there would be so few days, but she is grateful.

She puts on the outfit and pulls out all the same accessories. Her earrings. Her anklets. Her bangles. Her rings and chains that connect to the bracelets into a single piece. Even her maang tikka. And she leaves her hair down. Zafar likes it better this way, and she’s starting to as well.

She doesn’t tell Zafar--making it a surprise will make it even more delicious. With all her pent up excitement, even just at the thought of going back to Hira Mandi and seeing him again, she could practically run all the way there. But she takes the carriage, nearly bouncing off the walls in anticipation. When they arrive to the edge of town, she doesn’t even wait to come to a complete stop before she jumps out and runs down the street, up the slope towards the shop. She can see the heads of the passersby turn in her direction and follow them with her eyes, some calling out to her, as if a wild peacock has escaped the jungle and made its way to the city. But she doesn’t stop. Nothing deters her until she gets to her destination. She leans against a wall just past the open entrance to the shop and takes a moment to catch her breath.

_I miss you._

**I miss you too.**

She laughs out loud, surprised, clamping a hand over her mouth so she doesn’t give herself away.

_Wow. Quick. Don’t you have work to do?_

**I can work and talk to you. Think of you. No one will know.**

_That’s not distracting?_ She carefully peers around, begins to step out from hiding.

**Not always.**

_But can it be?_

**Sometimes.**

She grins. _How?_

 **I’m a man. It’s very easy for a woman to distract me, for** **_you_ ** **to distract me.**

She’s careful with her steps, making sure her anklets make as little noise as possible as she walks. _By doing what?_

She hears the laughter in her head, and at the same time, she sees him, in the back, working with the metal and the fire. His chest is bare, and Roop knows it’s not just the flames that’s causing her body to heat up all over. He shakes his head, as if he’s getting his hair out of his eyes, but even from here, Roop can see his smile, his genuine laughter.

**When you got married, for instance. You told me you were draped in red and gold. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days. How stunning you would be. How much I wanted to be the one to be with you when you looked like that.**

“Ma’am.” A short, older man approaches Roop, and her attention is diverted. “Can I help you--”

“Shh” is the only answer she gives him, moving away from him and bringing her attention back to Zafar.

 **It’s even worse now that we’ve met. Now that I know the truth of your beauty. Now that we’ve kissed.** She can see his muscles tense, she can see him force them to relax. It makes her smile. **I spend most of my waking hours now thinking about kissing you. Thinking about your soft lips, your small waist, your hands on my skin, in my hair.** He lowers his arms for a moment, letting out a hard breath through his mouth. Roop all but shoves her closed fist into her own mouth to keep from crying out in delight, in excitement that she’s making him feel this way. **It’s all I want, all the time.**

 _You want to kiss me in a lehenga?_ She combines those two fantasies together, and he laughs.

**Yes.**

_When I’m in a billowing skirt down to the floor? When my top is short enough and low enough that you can see the dip of my chest, the bare skin of my waist? When my hair is long and flowing, tickling your face? When my jewels catch the sunlight, when my bangles just barely scratch your skin, when my rings catch and tug at the ends of your hair? When I am so inhibited and seductive and shameless that I will let you touch me anywhere, everywhere, for as long as your heart and body desire?_

Roop is awestruck at her own fantasy, at her own brazenness, but she lets the embarrassment and coyness she should feel roll off her shoulder, preventing it from penetrating her. She watches Zafar, who has put his tools down again, standing up straight, head angled towards the ceiling. She can see him close his eyes, bite his lip. She can practically hear the groan that’s threatening to escape. He shakes his head vigorously and returns to his task.

 **Premika, what’s gotten into you? You’ve got to stop, you’re killing me.** He smiles as he tells her this. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger as if he’s watching her.

_Or what?_

**Or I will put a stop to this daydreaming of yours.**

_How? By making it come true?_ She bites her lip as Zafar drops his head, lifting it only to wipe sweat off his brow.

**Don’t you have work to do as well? Shouldn’t you do that instead?**

_I should. But I’m not._

Zafar laughs. Shakes his head again. And Roop can’t play this game anymore.

_Look up._

Zafar freezes instantly. He stands straight, looking directly in front of him and then turning to the entrance where she stands. She grins, a tantalizing smile, her eyebrows moving up and down once, her hand still twisting her hair, her opposite hand settled on her hip. But it’s difficult for her to keep up this sultry facade, and her shoulders hunch over as she dissolved into innocent giggles.

It doesn’t take more than this for Zafar to drop his tools with a loud clang and for him to run at nearly full speed to the front of the shop. The rest of the men clamor at his behavior, but he quickly approaches Roop with a wide smile and, in one motion, bends, wraps his arms around her thighs, and lifts her into the sky, spinning her.

Roop shrieks, her hands latching behind Zafar’s neck, head thrown back, laughing in loud joy. Her hair flies behind her as Zafar continues in the direction of his momentum, carrying her further away from the shop until they’re practically in the center of the street, whirling her the entire time. She is still laughing as he stops spinning them, his grip on her firm and solid.

“Who are you?” he shouts at her, uproarious. His smile lights up his face, and his eyes refuse to leave her. “Are you a goddess? Are you an angel? Are you my salvation?” He is growing breathless. He jostles her a bit with every question, and she squeals each time. “Are you a manifestation of every fantasy I’ve ever had? Of everything I could ever ask for in a woman? Are you my prize for keeping my composure for so long? Do I get to keep you?” His eyebrows narrow, his smile forming into a calm grin. “Who are you and what have you done with my soulmate? With my Premika, my love?”

Roop has been laughing for so long by this point that she’s running out of breath. It only gets more difficult to calm herself when Zafar kisses the base of her throat. When he nips lightly at her shoulder, her collarbone, the exposed skin of her chest. When he slides her body down just enough to hold her waist, now close enough to him that he can kiss her neck, her jaw, below her ear, just shy of her hairline. Her breath comes out in pants, and he slowly lets her down, her body slipping against his in such a tantalizing way that he has to have done it on purpose.

“Roop, your waist, mashallah…” He pushes her back a bit to gaze, to ogle at her. His hands feel bigger and stronger than usual as they rest on her bare waist, as they grip her skin. She feels exposed, naked, and yet so sexy, something she’s never felt in her entire life. She lets herself trace the contours of Zafar’s abdomen in a moment of bravery, and she watches his chest move up and down as he takes a deep breath. In a flash, he yanks her closer, pressing their bodies together, and Roop shrieks in surprise, reverting back to her innocence, wrapping her arms around Zafar’s neck and giggling into his shoulder. He holds her to him, one hand on her lower back, the other on her upper back where her top exposes her skin. They stay like that for a few moments, Roop savoring the skin on skin contact, how hot it makes her feel, and how Zafar seems to know how much she needs this, without having to say it. She is thankful for it, for him.

He brushes her hair back from her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

She pulls back, squinting her eyes at the bright sun. “I needed to see you.” And while it’s not a hundred percent the truth, it’s not a lie either. She needed him. She missed him. Lately, she’s always needing him, always missing him, can’t be apart from him, can’t get enough of him, only wants to be close to him. All these same sentiments of his from their afternoon together that she didn’t expect to agree with so strongly.

Zafar’s smile rivals the sun hanging over them. He cups her face and presses their foreheads together. Roop slides her hands down to his chest, letting them rest there, letting the two of them breathe together.

“I needed to hear you say it,” she adds finally. Zafar scrunches his eyebrows.

“Say what?” he asks. But Roop just stares at her hands on his chest, chews on her lip, unable to say it herself, suddenly worried she’ll sound too desperate, too needy. But in her peripheral vision, she can see Zafar’s eyes widen in understanding. She looks up at him just as his bright smile returns, and she’s at ease. His arms slide around her waist, returning home.

“Roop Chaudhry,” he says with a grin. “Who hopefully won’t be Chaudhry much longer.” Roop purses her lips, pulls them into her mouth to stifle her grin.

“Marry me.”

And she is so giddy to finally hear it from him she can’t stop herself from giggling like a child, dropping her head so her hair covers her bright red face. When she slowly lifts it back up, Zafar bends a bit to press his forehead against hers. She stands up straighter to make him more comfortable. She is still euphoric. His smile is as illuminating as the sun, as her own.

“Marry me?” Now it’s a question, a request. When Roop meets his eyes, there’s anticipation, but also uncertainty. It grounds her, calms her wild emotions. But her smile is still radiant.

“Yes,” she responds with confidence. Zafar seems to fight his strong reaction, from the way he gnaws on his lower lip, and it just makes Roop laugh again. He finally lets it go, and his wide smile lights up his face, his entire soul.

He doesn’t whoop and holler. He doesn’t announce it to the world. He doesn’t lift her and spin her again. But his hands spread across her back and he kisses her, long and sweet. The sun warms her skin from the outside, and Zafar’s touch, his love warms her from within. It dawns on her that they are still in the middle of the street, out in the open world, expressing themselves so clearly. But Roop has never felt more liberated, reckless, free, so she doesn’t care. She just threads her fingers through his hair, letting her jewels attach themselves to the ends and lightly tug, relishing in Zafar’s gasp against her mouth, bending her back slightly.

“ZAFAR!!” someone screams from across the way, and Zafar tears himself from Roop’s kiss. His boss is glaring at them. Zafar glares right back. Roop remembers him from when she discovered Zafar was her soulmate, how lewd he was, and wonders if Zafar is going to skin him alive.

“Quit it!” his boss yells. “You have the rest of your life to be with her! Get back to work!”

Zafar drops his shoulders in defeat, but doesn’t let his hands slide from her waist. **And I have the rest of my life to slave away in hard labor…** he sneers mentally. Roop doesn’t know if he meant to send the thought to her, but she giggles. From the way his head snaps towards her, he either didn’t, or wasn’t expecting her girlish reaction. She pulls his head back towards her and places a few innocent kisses on his cheek. When she pulls back, he’s grinning again, devilish.

 **I guess he has a point. I have the rest of my life to be with you, especially now that you’ve finally agreed to marry me.** He presses his forehead against hers, invading her space, and Roop giggles again.

_Finally?? I’ve wanted to marry you since the moment I connected with you. This was just making it official._

And Zafar can’t help himself--he kisses her one more time, deep, strong, full.

**I love you. I can’t wait until you are mine completely.**

Roop pulls back and looks up at him with big eyes. _I already am._

He smiles wide, and she starts to walk away before he can reel her back in again. He holds her outstretched left hand and kisses it, her ring finger, right where the band would rest. She keeps the feeling with her as she leaves, as if he gifted her one for real.

* * *

The proceedings for Roop and Dev’s divorce take a long time. Weeks. Roop is sick of it, and she’s getting impatient. She visits Zafar when she can, but they’re only small moments of bliss and reprieve, and they’re not enough. She may have said she was completely his, and she is, she knows it in her soul, but there’s a piece of her that still feels she has to cross this last hurdle before it can be one hundred percent true.

As things move along at their slow, steady pace, Dev approaches her one day.

“I’d like to meet him,” he says. “Your soulmate. Zafar, you said his name was?”

“Yes.” It takes Roop a good few seconds to process and properly respond. She wasn’t present at the time, but she knows Balraj told Dev about his past, his affair, Dev’s half-brother. She isn’t sure how much Balraj went into about Bahaar being his soulmate--she never asked, and with everything already shaky, she didn’t want to rock the boat even more. She also knew it was a lot for Dev to process, so she left him alone, which wasn’t unusual, but she was surprised how quickly he bounced back from the revelation. This was just the cherry on top.

Balraj doesn’t seem as thrilled about the idea when Dev brings it up at dinner. There isn’t an argument, just terse glances and a tense vibe in the room. Dev tries to convince him anyway.

“The only reason why Roop and I are ending our marriage at all is because of him,” he tries to explain.

“So you think he deserves to be let in here? So that homewrecker can observe what he’s destroying?”

“He’s not a homewrecker,” Dev counters. “He’s Roop’s soulmate, her other half. We’re sending her to him. We should at least learn where she’s going.”

“If she has the audacity to leave, I don’t care where she goes.” Roop suddenly wants to throw her fork at her father-in-law, if only to prove that she’s still in the room listening.

“Father, the deal was the marriage ends when Roop finds her soulmate. You know this. I had my chance with mine. Now it’s her turn.” Dev sighs. “If anything, I’d at least like to meet the brother I never knew I had.” This comes off as a bit passive aggressive, and it takes a bit more convincing afterwards for Balraj to finally relent. Roop remains silent throughout. Even as she retreats to her room to tell Zafar, she doesn’t use her voice.

_They want to meet you._

**Who does?**

Still not able to use proper names, she works around it. _My husband. Your father._

**No.**

_Why not?_

**I’m not interested. I have nothing to say to either of them, especially my father.**

_It took so much to just convince him to let you come over for dinner. Letting me out of this marriage is going to be a bloodbath._

**That was the deal! You already started filing the papers!**

_I know. It’s a pride thing. You know how he is._

**Premika, I love you so much, but I don’t think I can do this. Seeing him would bring up nothing but bad in me.**

_I can handle it._

**I don’t want to show you that side of me.**

_You did when we were kids. When we first met. I will see it eventually. Why not start now?_

She must make some pretty good points if he doesn’t respond.

_One meal. That’s all I’m asking. I will be next to you the entire time. And I will leave with you and we will lose ourselves in each other like we did that first afternoon._

There’s a long pause as he considers. **I’m tempted to make you promise, since we do that so much.**

Roop laughs, smiling for the first time in hours. _I promise._

Another beat. **Okay. Only for you.**

They make the arrangements for the next night. Zafar is buzzing with nervous energy as Roop’s carriage picks him up in front of his house and takes him to the rich part of Husnabad. Her voice rests in the back of his head, a calming presence as Zafar observes the tall buildings and polished exteriors with a combination of awe and disgust. The Chaudhrys’ front lawn is sprawling, big enough to host a sports game, grass evenly cut and bright green in the setting sun. Zafar looks down at his own green tunic, threaded with gold accents, more so surrounding the buttons on his chest. It’s the nicest kurta he owns, and he still feels underdressed.

As the carriage pulls up to the front door, the tall thing opens, and Roop steps out, looking like a fairy in a short, pale pink top, pale green lehenga and a matching scarf pinned to her shoulder. Her hair is loose. She wears no jewelry except for a fairly large maang tikka in the part of her hair. But her instant smile when she sees him is warm and welcoming, and she is still the most beautiful woman in the world.

He steps down from the carriage at the same time she bounds down the few stairs leading from the doorway. Her arms loosely wrap around his neck, and she places a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. His arms circle her waist, and he suddenly can’t go in there if he can have this instead.

 _You didn’t respond to me on the way here,_ she tells him when they pull back, keeping their foreheads pressed together. _Are you still nervous?_

There’s no use lying to her. He looks at the waistband of her skirt as he nods. Her thumbs come up to stroke both of his cheeks and gently tilt his head up to look her in the eyes.

_I will be with you the entire time. I will not let anyone in there ruin this, ruin us. You are better than your bad parts, and I love you always, come what may._

He kisses her one more time, a bit deeper, sending her a sweet **I love you** before unwinding himself from her and letting her lead him inside.

Dev greets them first, as expected. His smile is big as he shakes Zafar’s hand and introduces himself. Zafar realizes he’s technically meeting family, family Dev never knew he had. The reaction makes sense. Now Zafar wants to keep his composure for him, too.

“I feel like we should hug,” Dev says after an awkward pause. “We are brothers after all.”

“Half brothers,” Zafar corrects. But Roop, who has been on his arm the entire time, looks at him with a close-lipped smile and lets him go. He shakes his head and smiles before taking a few steps forward and letting Dev wrap him in a bear hug. Dev is almost a head taller than Zafar, and his face is pressed a bit awkwardly into his shoulder. But Dev holds him tight, and Zafar reciprocates, a piece of him feeling like he’s come home.

Also as expected, Balraj is not as warm and welcoming. He simply eyes Zafar up and down when the two young men pull back from their hug. Zafar’s expression drops, eyes narrowing. He doesn’t make an effort to shake his hand. Luckily, neither does Balraj. He just escorts them into the dining room.

There’s one place setting at the head of the table, one on the far side, and two right next to each other on the side closer to them. For Roop and Zafar, at her request, she tells him mentally. Zafar flushes a bit at the gesture, and she squeezes his hand before they separate again and sit.

“What coincidence!” Dev says at the head of the table, doing his best to stay casual and cordial. “That Roop would find her soulmate here, that you two would find each other despite all of the hardships it took.”

Roop smiles at Zafar. “Fate has a way of working such strange magic,” she says, running a hand along his arm. He smiles, turns faintly pink.

“It’s a shame you had to get married to get here, though,” Balraj says across from them, bitterness in his voice. “It’s a shame you have to go through all the trouble of ending it. Of sabotaging this family.”

“If she hadn’t married into this family, she wouldn’t be here in the first place,” Zafar responds, voice clipped. “We wouldn’t be together. And she’s not sabotaging anything. The deal was she would leave when we found each other. How many times does someone have to tell you that before it gets through your thick skull?”

Balraj just scoffs at him. “Clearly you know nothing of dignity. Especially with the way you talk to your own father. Shouldn’t surprise me, considering where you come from.”

It takes all of Zafar’s strength not to reach across the table and punch him. In a huff, he leans forward and picks up his glass. As he brings it to his lips, strong alcohol wafts from the purple liquid. Wine. He should have figured.

Zafar lowers the glass with his eyes on Balraj. “I’m Muslim,” he says with no inflection in his voice. “I don’t drink.”

Balraj looks up at him as if he is amazed at himself that he’s even bothering to respond. “Your father is Hindu. Your soulmate is Hindu. You are a guest in a Hindu household. You drink it with no complaints.” And he lowers his eyes.

From the way Roop tenses and cowers next to him, Zafar understands that there is no merit to his comments aside from malice. She is on his side. He chances a glance over at her before turning back to Balraj, extending his arm to the side and slowly dumping the contents of the glass onto the floor.

Everyone’s eyes widen, but aside from them all leaning forward and a small gasp from Roop, no one stops him. The wine drips slowly as Zafar keeps his arms out, his eyes never leaving Balraj as he puts the glass back down.

“We have water,” Dev says, voice wavering. “We can get you some water.” Zafar just shakes his head slowly, even as someone sets another glass in front of him and he finally peels his eyes away from Balraj.

“So Roop tells us you’re a blacksmith,” Dev continues as they start eating. “What’s that like?”

Zafar shrugs. “It puts bread on the table and money in my pocket.” He leans back. “But it’s not very stable, especially lately. If I’m being honest, Mr. Chaudhry, this steel mill you have planned is causing my community much distress, myself included.”

“Please, call me Dev,” Dev waves off. “And I’m not planning it, I’m simply advocating for it.”

“I understand the idea behind it, but with all due respect, Dev, we will not only lose our sense of community, but people like me won’t be able to find work so easily if this factory takes our jobs away. We have already begun to be persecuted. It will get worse if we have to start leeching off the rich.”

Balraj shakes his head. “As if you don’t do that enough already.”

Zafar places his fork down on the table with a bit more force than necessary. Roop jumps next to him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Upkeep for Hira Mandi comes from the taxpayers of all of Husnabad, money that could be used to better the entire town, for things that could benefit everyone, the entire country.”

“I don’t see how putting me out of a job benefits everyone.”

“It would teach you some discipline, for starters.”

“I have more than enough discipline. I learned discipline from the very streets of Hira Mandi. God knows I couldn’t have learned it from you.”

Balraj nearly jerks back in his seat. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Zafar narrows his eyes. “How much did you tell Dev about me?”

“Zafar.” Roop faces him, laying her hand over his where it rests on the table. He doesn’t avert his eyes, but he breathes out, her touch calming him. He moves his thumb back and forth, stroking the underside of her wrist. But he doesn’t turn his hand over to hold hers.

“How much does he know?” Zafar asks again, his voice slimy and conniving. “Does he know who my mother is? That she’s Bahaar Begum, from the very brothel where Roop has been taking singing lessons since she arrived here? Does he know that the two of you are soulmates?”

“What?!” Dev turns to Balraj. “Papa, is this true?” But Balraj keeps his eyes on Zafar.

“And what good would that information do him?”

“Tons. He would understand that if you are not with her, you must have left her, which in most people’s eyes is the most heinous crime a person can commit. He would wonder why. And he would question your character, how you raised him. He would lose his trust in you, and he would slowly pull away from you until he lost faith in you completely, until there was no relationship left to save.” Zafar slides his hand out from under Roop’s and reaches for his glass. “And that, _Papa_ , is how you destroy a family.”

As Zafar takes a sip of his water, Balraj’s chair screeches back, but he doesn’t stand. “Is this why you decided to help Roop with her article? So you could sneak your way into this family and wreck it from the inside?”

Zafar shrugs as he sets his glass down. “More or less. I mean, my end goal wasn’t to wind up here. My end goal wasn’t to fall in love with her. But now that I’m here, I might as well make the most of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Balraj motions to Roop. “And she sits there listening to all this! Your slander, your scheming, devilish ways! How can you possibly expect her to trust you after this, to still love you?”

“We are soulmates. It’s what we do. I promised her I would love her, never leave her, and I am a man of my word.”

“Are you though?” Balraj pulls his chair back in and folds his hands, leaning forward. “Your father is a scoundrel. Your mother is a whore. They say much of your personality comes from your parents. You can’t remain faithful to her. You cannot remain as in love with her as you say you are. It’s not in your blood. Admit it. There will come a day where you lose interest, where she does not excite you as much as she does now. And you will leave your harlot of a soulmate in the dust. Because deep down, you are just like me.”

And with that, Zafar throws the empty wine glass across the room at Balraj. It misses him, but the sound of the glass shattering on the marble floor echoes through the room.

“Zafar,” Roop says, scared, but he doesn’t hear her. He’s already on his feet, circling the table, grabbing one of the bigger pieces of glass from the floor.

“Zafar!” Roop is leaning forward now, screaming as Zafar grabs Balraj by his hair and holds the shard to his throat.

“Take that back, you insolent bastard,” he sneers, his voice drenched in menace, worse than it would have been if he had screamed.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Balraj chokes, and Zafar just presses the glass harder against his skin, turning red at the edges.

“How dare you insult her like that. How dare you insult my soulmate, my love, your own daughter-in-law. Apologize to her. Now.”

His head twitches to the side in rage, but it’s just enough for him to see Roop out of the corner of his eye. He turns to her, and the image of her, eyes wide, shrunk back in her seat, a look of absolute terror plastered on her face, adheres itself into a place in Zafar’s head where he knows he will never forget it as long as he lives.

He lets Balraj go and steps back. In anger, in pain, he throws the shard of glass in his hand to the ground, smashing into pieces. And without a pause, he storms out of the room, out of the house all together.

Dev and Roop call after him, Roop’s voice carrying further. But he doesn’t hear her. He sees red as he stomps his way down the path to where the carriage is parked, too far away, dusk falling over the lawn. Faintly, in the distance, he hears the door to the house creak open and Roop calling for him out loud, her feet crunching on the ground as she runs after him. But Zafar doesn’t stop. He feels like he’s about to bust out of his own skin. He feels like knocking down an entire house with his bare hands, like destroying the carriage he’s approaching. He feels like he could kill the next person who comes near him.

He doesn’t stop his momentum until he’s just in front of the carriage, when Roop finally catches up to him and grabs him, her arms latching around his torso, her face pressing into his shoulder blades.

There is that same sense of calmness when she touched him earlier. He can’t spin out if she’s so close, if he could hurt her. And yet, when she starts to softly cry, when he feels her body shake against him, he rips her arms from his body and turns, backing away from her.

“Don’t touch me,” he spits. “I should be the one comforting you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking on you.” She looks at him as if he’s crazy. “You almost killed my father-in-law, your father.”

“So shouldn’t you be checking on him to see if he’s alright?” Now Zafar is finally yelling. “Instead of the man who almost killed him?”

“The man who almost killed him is my soulmate. I think that carries a little more weight.”

“I told you I don’t deserve this title! I told you I was a terrible person! I warned you I wouldn’t be able to control myself, that something like this would happen! That you couldn’t handle it!”

“Does this look like I’m not handling it??” And now she’s yelling in his face right back. “Someone who couldn’t handle it would still be glued to that chair, frozen in fear! Someone who couldn’t handle it would still be in there playing demure, dutiful wife, tending to her father-in-law’s wounds! Someone who couldn’t handle it wouldn’t be standing out here, screaming at her soulmate, trying to convince him that everything’s fine!”

“But everything isn’t fine! I almost killed a man! You think that’s an admirable trait? You would choose to be with someone who could murder his own father without batting an eye? You still think I am so worthy of love now?”

“Yes!!” The birds still in the trees fly away at Roop’s scream. This snaps both of them out, and Roop breathes hard, still looking at him with wild eyes but calming down a bit before continuing.

“Do I think what you did was right? No. Do I think what you did was smart? No. Do I condone the act? Of course not. But do I support your stance, even if the execution of your thoughts wasn’t the best? Yes.” She takes a step closer. “Zafar, you were defending me in there. Us. Our love. How could I possibly think of you any less after that?”

“I said horrible things.” His voice has gone quiet, fractured. “The truth came out about why I got close to you in the first place. How could you trust me after that?”

“You never followed through. You never actively pursued me, tried to bed me. The one time you almost kissed me, you held back at the last moment.”

“Because I couldn’t be disloyal to my soulmate,” he mutters, voice wistful, thinking back to the guilt he felt at the time.

“Because you couldn’t abandon me.” Roop is directly in front of him now, cupping his jaw, forcing his gaze on hers, and it feels as if the clouds have cleared. “Zafar. You are nothing like him. You are better. You are more. We have told each other time and time again that soulmates stick by each other through good and bad, in spite of flaws, mistakes, imperfections. And that is what I’m choosing to do. I don’t love you because you are perfect. You’re not. And I choose to love you anyway.”

She loosely wraps her arms around his neck.

“You will never leave me, will you?”

Zafar shakes his head.

“And you will never hurt me, will you?”

Again, harder.

“And that is all I need. That reassurance that we will be there, that we will choose each other over and over and over again. You have already chosen me so many times, more than I can count. Please. Let me choose you.”

Zafar’s eyes lose focus even if he continues to look at her. He’s a little wobbly on his feet, and he can’t stop shaking his head, refusing to accept this unconditional, absolute devotion. It shouldn’t be his. He doesn’t deserve it.

“You…” He can’t breathe, can’t get the air in. His eyes sting. “I don’t…”

She knows exactly what he’s going to say. She holds the back of his head steady. “Yes you do.”

“I don’t…” He tries to push her away, but he is so weak, and her hold is so strong that she bends him to her will.

“Stop it. Yes you do.” She wraps her arms back around her neck, tight, pressing their foreheads together. “Yes you do.”

She kisses his cheek lightly, and he succumbs to her embrace, face buried in her hair, gripping her tight. They sway with it, and Zafar finally lets himself go, body shaking with quiet sobs. Roop runs steady hands across his back, and his head falls against her shoulder, trying to hide it, and then wondering why he should. She will not judge him. She will not stray. He could lose himself completely, and she will remain, his rock, his pedestal, as sure and certain as the dawn.

When his tears dry and his breath returns to normal, Roop unwraps her arms but remains close to him, enough so he can feel the heat radiating off of her.

“I don’t belong in there, with them,” she says firmly, looking him in the eye. “I belong with you. They are not my family. You are. I have never found a home in that place, amongst those people.” Her fingers brush his jaw. “My home is with you, wherever you are. That is where I want to be.”

Zafar wants to cry all over again, but her hands continue to move down his neck, ghosting over the exposed skin of his chest and resting on his pectoral muscles over his shirt. His thoughts turn carnal, his hands randy as they reach for the bare skin of her waist, and Roop lets him touch her, her slow smile the consent that he needs.

“We are already connected,” she whispers. “Mind, heart, soul. But there is one more.”

“Roop, you haven’t finished the proceedings with Dev yet,” Zafar says, frustrated. “We can’t marry. Not now.”

“I’m not talking about that,” she says a little firmer, but still quiet. “Our connection. It’s still incomplete. I want to, I want to make us whole. I’m ready. I have been since I met you.”

Understanding drops on Zafar like a hammer on the head. He’s hyper aware of his hands still on her waist, and he feels like a predator. But she is still looking at him with so much longing, so much love, ache, want that he will devour her if she asks. But she doesn’t ask. She demands. And he has to hear it.

“Roop, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” She cups his jaw with both hands. “Take me home. Lay me down. And make me yours.”

There is a beat as he processes, wraps his head around it, and then he is kissing her in the blink of an eye, ravishing her with his lips, his tongue in her mouth, his hands all across her body. She is just as frantic, gripping his hair, nearly pulling it out of his skull, fisting his collar in her hands. But she’s the one who ends it, pulling away with all her strength. They breath each other in for a few moments, and then they hurry into the carriage as if they are escaping war.

The ride feels agonizingly long. Roop latches herself onto Zafar’s arm as she did that first afternoon. Her head is on his shoulder, his head resting gently against hers. Their fingers are threaded together, joined in a death grip. They do not touch aside from this. But the air is thick with their desire, their hunger, and both shake with their need for each other as they get closer, stealing glances and no longer averting their eyes, letting them dwell on their beloved.

When they eventually reach Hira Mandi, night has fallen dark over the town, and Roop and Zafar remain hand in hand as they walk, close together, as if they are committing a crime and something will jump from the shadows and separate them. By the time they climb the stairs and enter Zafar’s bedroom, something new has settled over the couple. The longing is there, but it’s deeper in their bones, steadier. The urgency is gone, replaced with a sense of gravity, pulling them together, a fluid motion like a gentle wave, washing them clean. 

Zafar lets the feeling draw him in, stepping closer to Roop, his eyes remaining locked on hers. She carefully unclips her maang tikka, unpins the scarf from her shoulder and lets them both fall to the floor. He stops, admiring her for long moments before, in one smooth motion, pulling his kurta off and tossing it to the side. Roop takes the final step towards him, her fingertips tracing over the muscles of his chest, his arms, his abs, as she had done that day in the streets. This time, there is a new kind of reverence in her eyes, in her slack jaw, as if now she’s fully understanding what she’s asking for, and is amazed she can have it.

Zafar’s hands glide up her back, over the edge of her top, and then under the single band holding it in place. Slowly, as if he’s handling glass, his hands come around her sides to her chest until he is gently cupping her breasts. There is no force, no weight, but it sends a rush through Roop, down to her toes. Her top is lifted a fraction and, carefully, so as not to disturb his hold, she pulls the garment off.

The rest of their clothes slide away with ease. As they lay on the bed and love each other incessantly, the darkness has fallen over them, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving nothing but this intimacy. It’s the most pure, divine kind of worship, his hands a temple as they roam her skin, his mouth a prayer as his kisses coat her body, his tongue a hymn as it dances between her thighs. When their bodies join together completely, Roop can feel it, her mind connecting to his, their very souls blending into one entity. Zafar must be able to feel it too, the way his groans into her shoulder turn deeper, the way his hold on her body tightens, and Roop can’t hold back anymore as they move together, ebbing and flowing, a single existence, a rolling tide crashing against the shore.

They remain locked to each other when it ends, the passion and connection lingering in spades. Even before Zafar discovered Roop was his soulmate, everything always felt heightened around her. Her emotions sparked off of her, catching onto Zafar so that he swore he knew exactly what she was feeling. It’s even more intense now. As they settle, her calmness, her sedation envelopes them both like a warm blanket. It’s as if he’s in her head, making himself a cozy space for himself in a corner of her mind. It’s as if she’s letting him take it over completely. They’re breathing together, perfectly timed, with no concern of who matched up to whom. He can feel her heart pounding against him, loud and rhythmic, and can practically sense the blood flowing through her veins, rushing, alive.

They are one.

_Oh, Zafar._

He nearly comes to weeping with relief, with the purest form of love that’s ever been in his heart. His arms come under her, pressing her body against his, pressing his face into her neck, burying himself in her hair. She laughs, the sound like musical chimes in this new state, and her arms and legs wind around him, a loose hold, one hand carding through his hair. She kisses his cheek, his temple, his ear. Her breath makes him shiver and hold her closer.

 **Roop, I love you.** Zafar both hears and feels her gasp of surprise at her name, feels her chest rise, her body stiffen. Her arms tighten around him, her fingers digging into their placements on his body, marking his skin with her nails, claiming him, keeping him with her. As if there is anywhere else he would rather be.

 **Roop, I love you.** Again. He presses his lips to her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. **I love you, Roop, I love you so much.** He has energy to spend, energy for days, something that never happens when he’s done this with others. She sighs, so entrancing that Zafar wants to get drunk on it.

 _I love you, Zafar._ He wonders how she can make even her thoughts sound breathy, seductive, hypnotizing him to come to her, to slow down, pressing smaller, softer kisses on her chin, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. An _I love you so much_ follows, a whisper of a thought, but Zafar can feel it in his chest, the sharp pinprick of these words on his heart, a tattoo, making herself permanent, making herself known, making herself stay. And Zafar will give her a home, welcome her in with open arms, refuse to let her go.

He kisses her mouth, firmer and deeper than he had planned, but she responds in earnest, fisting his hair with both hands and matching him beat for beat. The kiss is heated for a long time, until something dark creeps its way into Roop’s mind and she slows down, her hands falling to Zafar’s jaw, her lips hovering close to his. He pulls back almost completely, trying to read her expression. He still can’t truly read her mind, which he never expected to, and in the grand scheme of things is probably for the best. Still, her eyes dart all over his face, refusing to meet his.

_There’s no one else, still, is there?_

Zafar’s shoulders sag, his body weakens. How, after everything, after this experience, this night, could she possibly still think there was anyone else? Zafar doesn’t even want to look at anyone else besides her, hasn’t thought about anyone else in the days since they discovered each other. She is it for him, he understands that now. She is, and will forever be, the only one. He tries to convey this emotion to her, and even if her eyes are still wet, the corners of her mouth twitch upwards in a way that has to mean she understands.

 **There’s no one else.** He brushes a strand of her hair back as he tells her this. She breathes out slowly through her mouth and finally moves her eyes to meet his. His smile is subdued, but it reaches his eyes, and when she pulls him back down to kiss him softly and sweetly one more time, he can feel her satisfaction, her sweet relief. She shifts a little, and he gently slides away from her, onto his back, and she curls into him like a cat, wrapping her arms around his torso, tucking her head under his chin and against his chest. His arms circle her shoulders, kissing her forehead. They lie still, sending the same endearments they did when they were separated back and forth, over and over, until the exhaustion overtakes them and they are pulled into sleep.

Roop wakes up first in the morning, her head on Zafar’s shoulder. She blinks in the bright sun, stretching, sitting up. Her muscles ache, but the sense of fulfillment in her body brings a smile to her face. She turns to Zafar and leans down, lying on her side, propping her body up on her elbow. His arms are spread eagle, head lolled to the side, facing away from her but relaxed in sleep. The golden light of the sun makes his skin gleam, shining in places as if he’s glowing from within. The shadows on his abdomen make the muscles look even more defined, and Roop just wants to do nothing but touch.

God, he is beautiful.

She tosses her hair behind her shoulder, letting the blanket slip down to her hips, feeling no shame in her body, how it’s exposed, how it may look. She gently brushes Zafar’s hair away from his eyes with the tips of her fingers, runs them along his bearded cheek, lightly across his collarbone and chest. He breathes in deeply, shifting a little, scrunching his nose, waking up. Roop keeps her hand there, resting on his chest, lightly rubbing across the pectoral muscle, up to his shoulder. He stretches his fingers, balls his hands into fists, and slowly turns his head to face her. The sun blinds him temporarily, and he blinks languid up at her. His eyes dart across the miles of exposed skin, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. Her hair is a dark shadow with hints of red, he swears he can see them. The morning sun behind her bathes her in a hazy, ethereal radiance.

“Am I dreaming?” are the first words to leave his lips, heavy, cracked in their first use of the day. She giggles, ducking her head, her hair brushing across her face. Zafar reaches up and tucks it back behind her ear. She smiles warmly at him, leans down and places a sweet kiss to his lips, his hand slipping from her hair. This sets Zafar alight--his entire body seems to shift in response to her, breathing in sharply through his nose, his body arching into her, the hand that was in her hair returning to cup the back of her head, the other one resting on her upper back, brushing through the ends of her hair that rest there. He gently pulls her body on top of his, and she giggles against his mouth, louder than before, and moves with him, her other hand cupping his face and deepening the kiss. She can’t keep the smile off her face when she eventually pulls back, pursing her lips, biting her lower one. Zafar’s eyes still won’t open completely, looking at her as if he’s in awe of her.

“Good morning,” she says quietly around another small laugh. Zafar brushes his hand through her hair again.

“I love you.” It’s stronger now, even if it’s still a bit broken and scratchy. But he sounds sure. Roop feels herself turn pink.

“I love you too.” She tenses a bit in her blush, but she’s smiling, and he guides her head back down to kiss her again.

“Is it always like this?” he breathes against her after a while. Their air mixes together, intoxicating and dizzying, making them almost high. Roop tucks her chin over his shoulder, pressing the side of her face against his. Zafar breathes out, a small noise of relief escaping his lips as if she wasn’t already close enough to him.

“Can it always be like this?” he whispers directly into her ear, and she shutters at his hot breath on her, latching herself harder onto him, holding him tighter. And he follows suit, his fingers gripping the ends of her hair, his fingertips digging into her back. It is so perfect, so right, the purest of bliss, if she could just flick off that final switch in her brain…

Zafar must be able to sense it. He releases her, and she rises slightly above him. He pushes her hair out of her eyes, which are drawn up to him. There’s so much love and concern in his eyes that Roop suddenly feels like crying.

“Tell me,” he says gently, not forceful or prodding, but Roop is still shy.

“I need to hear you say it,” she mumbles to his shoulder. She can see out of the corner of her eye Zafar’s sad smile, feel him continue to comb his fingers through her hair, brush his thumb across her cheek. He knows. And more than that, he understands. If a soulmate has brought her anything, it’s someone who, deeply, understands her. She looks up at him.

“Roop Chaudhry,” he says, no waver, no crack in his voice anymore. “Who won’t be Chaudhry anymore.” She laughs, ducking her head, and Zafar picks it back up, gently lifting her chin.

“Since the day we discovered each other. Hell, since the day we first met, before we knew who we would become to each other, there hasn’t been another one. You know my intentions weren’t the most pure of heart, but you know as well that my feelings for you crept up on me and took me over entirely. And now that we’re together, completely, in all ways, I can say with certainty that you are the only one for me. I promise you, I have not so much as looked at another woman who’s crossed my path, I have not thought about another woman with any hint of desire or attraction. It’s only been you. And I swear to you, for the rest of my life, there will be no one else but you. There can’t be anyone else but you. You are perfect, you are perfect for me, you are it for me. You complete me. You have me, heart, mind, soul, and body. I’m yours, now, and always.”

And now Roop really feels like crying. Zafar pulls her down and kisses her cheeks, the sensitive skin just below her wet eyes. He kisses her closed eyelids, her forehead, and Roop pillows her head against his chest. Zafar runs a steady hand up and down her back.

“Do you believe me now?” he murmurs into her hair, and Roop chuckles, nodding her head, holding Zafar closer.

“Of course I believe you. I love you so much.”

He kisses her head. “I love you too.” And after laying together for a few moments, he gently starts to roll them over, switching positions.

“Let me show you,” he adds, deeper now, with enough want and hunger that Roop’s tears instantly dry and her body grows hot. “Let me show you how much you mean to me. Let me show you how much I love you.”

She laughs under him. “Again?”

He grins. “Again.” His mouth latches onto her neck, Roop lets her head fall back, a moan slipping past her lips, and the rest of the world disappears.

It’s endless. The emotion and love passing between them, the pleasure they give each other. It lasts all day. Nothing else exists, nothing else matters besides this, them, here, now. The sensations are so much more intense than they were last night, and Zafar is hit with the realization that this is how it will always be with her from now on. As he kisses her and touches her as long and she’ll let him, for hours upon hours, his promise to her sinks deep into his soul. There can never be anyone else because there can be nothing better than her. There can never be anything else that any woman can give him because there can be nothing better than this.

Her skin is the softest of silks. Her scent is the freshest of flowers. Her taste is the sweetest of berries. She is an angel. She is a goddess. She is his salvation.

She is his. And he will cherish her, protect her, adore her for as long as he is allowed to.

* * *

The days pass easier for Roop after this. She can’t get enough of hearing Zafar say her name in her head, soft, and with so much affection she wants to burst out of her own skin every single time. It gets more difficult to stay professional during proceedings with Dev--Zafar bothers her, taunts her, teases her with detailed descriptions of things she could be doing instead, with him, to him, and Roop turns so red the lawyer asks questions that take her too long to make up an answer for.

She barely spends any time in the Chaudhry house anymore. Most nights, she is with Zafar, wrapped up in him, making love until sunrise. Sleep is not a priority, but when it does claim them, there would be times where Roop would wake up in the middle of the night. She could never place why. But she fetches water, uses the bathroom, and climbs back into bed next to him without him stirring.

There is one night where, when she wakes, she can’t be lulled back into sleep. Her brain won’t let her, and it won’t let her rouse him either, tantalize him with her mouth until he awakens and satisfies her again. So, when she rises, it’s the tall window and the open air that call to her.

She pulls on Zafar’s tunic, the sleeves extending well past her hands, swallowing her arms, the bottom well past her knees. She slowly opens the shutters, careful not to wake Zafar, and steps out onto the balcony. She leans forward, observing the quiet street, but still lit up as if it could resume bustling any second. She looks up at the stars, dim with all the lights, marveling at how she is under the same sky she was when her life was in such despair, when she nearly lost all hope she would have her happy ending.

Strong arms circle her waist. A warm body presses into her back, with pants on this time. Zafar rests his chin lightly on her shoulder, lightly runs his nose along the side of her face. His breath is slow, and Roop could easily fall back asleep right here.

“How do you look better in my clothes than me?” he teases, voice thick and low with sleep, and she laughs. She holds his head with one hand and presses her lips to his cheek, his temple, and his face slides down so his nose is pressed into the curve of her neck, inhaling.

After a long moment, he lifts his head. He takes her hand from where it rests against his face and holds it. He lines his thumb up underneath her pointer finger, propping it up like a splint. He uses their joined hands like an arrow, showing her stars and constellations. Roop doesn’t know enough about astronomy to deduce if this is factual, or if he’s creating stories for the shapes in the sky on the spot. But his voice is so soothing and calming, she will listen to him talk about anything, all day and all night, let him lull her into such drowsiness that she’s slumped against him such that he has to practically hold her upright. So he carries her back inside, and she clings to him, latching her arms around his neck, curving around him, refusing to let go of him even after he sets her down into the bed. He pulls off her tunic--his tunic--as if he’s undressing a child, and she flops down on her back, a delirious smile spreading. Zafar removes his pants and, when she situates herself back under the blankets, he crawls in next to her and lines their bodies up, spooning her from behind and kissing her cheek and shoulder until her breathing steadies again.

Roop and Dev’s divorce is finalized in a late, balmy afternoon. With no reason to go back to the Chaudhrys’ anymore, she should be running to Hira Mandi and all but launching herself at Zafar. But she doesn’t. Gradually, she’s been moving her things to Zafar’s, as much as she can. There’s still a little bit left, necessities that she should organize. And she would feel guilty if she didn’t say goodbye, if she didn’t spend one more night there knowing it was her last.

So, for the final time, she and Dev go home together. She tells Zafar the news as she’s cleaning her room, and saying he is overjoyed is an understatement. She doesn’t fully believe him when he says he is dancing in celebration. But they stay talking until Roop climbs into bed. Zafar flirts with her relentlessly, listing, in detail, everything he will do with her, to her once they are together. These thoughts carry her into sleep, into her dreams, where he looks radiant in ivory, a fire in front of him turning his skin a warm shade of bronze. Where his hands never leave hers, which are covered in rich, deep red designs. Where they are alone, removing the barriers between them and coming together over and over again, and he whispers her name like a mantra. Roop… Roop…

**Roop!**

She wakes with a start, sitting up straight, unsure what was a dream and what wasn’t, if he was really trying to speak to her.

_Zafar?_

**Roop, you need to get out of there.**

_Why? What’s happening?_

**Abdul, and the other Muslims. They’re rioting. They’re attacking Hindu businesses, households. They’re probably on their way to the Chaudhrys’ right now. There’s a train going to Amritsar that we can get on. But we have to go. Now.**

Roop is already up and moving, not even bothering with the bags she spent so much time packing. Her white tunic and pants barely have any pockets, but she puts a couple of important pieces of jewelry in them and pins a white scarf to her shoulders.

_Where are you? Are you alright?_

**I’m fine. I’m coming to get you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.**

But Roop can’t wait. She’s running down the hall, into Dev’s room without knocking. The force of her entry does the job of waking him up.

“Hmm?” he asks groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“The Muslims are rioting. They’re targeting Hindus. Zafar can get us on a train to Amritsar, but we have to go.”

Dev is a little slower getting up, and Roop is getting more anxious by the minute. She crosses her arms, taps her foot as Dev slips some things into his pockets like she had and tries to pack a bag.

“We don’t have--” she starts to say, when the sound of glass shattering stops her. It’s not too close, but close enough that both know it could only be a rock smashing through one of the windows.

“We don’t have time,” she finishes, looking at him with hard eyes. And Dev abandons his bag and runs into the hallway with her.

“Where are we meeting him?” Dev says, still somehow nowhere near as frantic as Roop feels. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I don’t know,” she responds. But they reach the landing of the stairs, and over the edge, a figure stands in the middle of the great lobby downstairs, bathed in moonlight. Dressed all in white as well, he looks up at the pair with a stoic expression. Roop can see the kajal lining his eyes from here.

“Zafar,” she breathes out, and almost as if he heard her, his shoulders drop in relief, a smile lighting up his whole body. And suddenly, she’s running down the stairs towards him, and his arms are lifting towards her, and she is against him, knocking him back, but they hold each other tight, panting as if they are finally able to breathe again.

“You’re alright,” she sobs into his chest.

“Of course I’m alright.” He strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head. “Did you think I would lie to you?”

She shakes her head, and she can feel Dev’s presence coming up behind her, when there’s another crash, closer this time, and all three jump back, turning towards it before stumbling out the front door.

Husnabad is burning. Dev office has been looted, all of his materials piled in the middle of the street, now a flaming pile of ash. The building is ablaze, the flames pouring out of the windows. Nearby buildings are alight. People run out of their homes screaming, clutching children. A crowd of men roam in the center, brandishing swords, slicing them through anyone who stands in their way. Dev, in a fit of bravery, runs towards the madness, but both Roop and Zafar pull him back.

“Are you insane?!” Zafar yells at his brother. “You’re walking straight into your death!”

“If I die, I die with honor, defending my livelihood.”

“You can’t have a livelihood if you have no life,” Zafar quips. But by sheer luck, a driver steers an empty, uncovered carriage towards them, and Zafar grabs the footrest and launches himself in. He hoists Roop up by the waist, setting her down inside, and grabs for Dev’s hand, pulling him up as well.

“Take us to the train station,” Zafar tells the driver, and the carriage turns, winding down the street. There is nothing left for the trio to do but wait, and as the carriage swerves, Roop latches onto Zafar again, arms around his waist, head buried in his chest. One of his hands steadies them against the side of the car, the other wraps around her, rubbing her shoulder in comfort. But the flames get higher as they make their way through town, and Roop starts to cough from the smoke. They pass the manmade lake, and in the haze, Roop can see the brothel beyond it, flames engulfing the building. She wonders where Bahaar Begum is, if she’s in there, if she’s alright.

“Your mother,” Roop croaks, the smoke getting into her throat, her eyes glassy. “She should come.”

Zafar shakes his head. “Her courtesans are Hindus. She would want to stay and protect them. She’s not the type to abandon people.”

And Roop is suddenly too weak to fight, her head lolling against Zafar’s shoulder, her eyes closing.

They ride a long stretch of road on the edge of town, bordering a desert plain. The station is across the terrain, a straight shot. But the carriage will stay on the road, circling the desert. So Zafar acts on instinct.

“We’ll get there faster if we run across,” he says, pointing to the lights of the station, lightly nudging Roop up and off him. “Jump. Go.”

He’s off first, helping both Roop and Dev down. He spies a sword next to a fallen man, and on a whim, picks it up. Ahead of him, Roop and Dev are already sprinting into the darkness, and Zafar goes after them. He’s swift, so it’s not long before he catches up to them. Roop turns to him over her shoulder and reaches for him. He takes her right hand in his left, and they hurry like this the rest of the way across.

The train’s horn is already bellowing as the three bound across the tracks and push themselves up onto the platform. It’s pure chaos, people pushing and shoving each other, clamoring into the cars, climbing onto the roof itself. The three of them push their way through the crowd, holding onto hands and clothes so they don’t lose each other. Some of Abdul’s men bear down on them anyway, and Dev and Zafar let go of Roop to slam them into wooden posts holding up the roof of the platform, Zafar breaking arms, hurling men in all directions, and slicing into them without batting an eye. Roop watches him with wide, terrified eyes. It’s worse than when he nearly slit his father’s throat open. But she doesn’t fear him--she fears for him. For his life.

When things calm down for a fraction of a moment, the three come together again on the platform. But Zafar can see a line of torches fast approaching, and behind Roop, Abdul strides towards them with a sword of his own. He scans the windows of the train, and Zafar knows he’s looking for him.

“You both get on the train,” he tells them. “I’ll hold them off.”

Roop looks at him, horror struck. “They’ll kill you.” Her voice shakes in fright, and Zafar wishes he could calm her, that it didn’t have to be this way.

“They’re my people. They won’t hurt me.”

The line of torches fast approach, and all three turn at the same time, watching as Abdul leads his men, nothing but murder in his eyes.

Zafar tugs Roop close, grabs her face, and presses a hard kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he says against her skin. “Go.”

She lets out a pained noise. “I love you,” she says softly, and the warning bell rings again, and she is off.

Roop races behind Dev, and luckily it isn’t long before there is a space surrounding an open doorway and they climb in. They run through the aisle, Roop not really sure what they are looking for, where they are going to hide. But she is struck with the thought of Zafar out there, alone, defending himself, defending her, and she can’t disobey him, but she can’t leave him there, can’t hide in here like a coward. So she breaks off from Dev and runs back the way she came, losing him in the crowd, hoping he’ll understand.

She leans out of the doorway and can see Zafar in the distance, forgoing his sword, continuously pushing Abdul away from him, punching him, dodging and blocking the movements of his sword. She is not capable of physical fighting like he is. Going out there would cost her her life, and she cannot destroy him like that. Not when they’re so close to having everything.

The whistle blows again, and suddenly the train lurches under her. She holds onto the door as the vehicle begins to move, as Zafar continues to fight for his life, for her life, for their life.

“Zafar!” she shouts, still close enough that he has to be able to hear her. But he is still dodging blows, the weapon tearing up his clothing, his skin, staining it red.

“Zafar!!” she screams. A man ambushes Zafar from behind, and Zafar backhands him with his fist, lifting him up by his tunic and hurling him into the wall of the train. She moves faster away from him.

“JUNO!!” she howls with all her breath. But he still stands, the torches still coming, Zafar simply standing and watching them, waiting for the onslaught. Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he coming to her? She wants to cry. She can’t lose him. She refuses to. Not now. Not like this.

She closes her eyes and scrunches her face. _Zafar!_ She puts her entire soul into the thought, so much that she nearly keels over in exertion. _Come on! Please! Come with me! Come home! Run!_

When she heaves herself back up to standing, Zafar is finally turned around, watching her instead, his eyes dark from this far away. Slowly, shakily, she extends her arm out towards him, hand outstretched. And she hears him, a powerful thought, **Roop, my love, my life.** And finally, he is running, as fast as his legs can carry him, shoving anyone and everyone out of his way to get to her. And she smiles, but it doesn’t take up her face. She won’t feel relief until he is next to her again.

It feels like it’s happening in slow motion, the train pulling further away as Zafar powers towards her with everything in him. The flames rise around him, behind him. Men still run past him with swords, getting slashes in on him. But their eyes remain locked on each other, and he doesn’t stop, not until she has his hands in hers. Something close to relief sags over her, but he keeps running, moving forward with the train movements, and with all her strength, she pulls his arm, stepping backwards deeper in the compartment, and he nearly trips as he climbs in, but she yanks him up from under his shoulders, and he is standing, battered, bruised, injured, but he is inside and he is alive, and they are together.

As all of this hits Roop at once, she collapses against him, wailing into his chest, harder than she did the day she discovered him. Zafar holds her up, stroking her hair, pressing kisses all over her face and shoulders.

 **I’m here,** he tells her over and over. **I made it. I’m alright. I’m alive. I’m here. We made it. I’ve got you. I love you.**

The train picks up to full speed, and Roop can think of nothing but how much she loves him, how grateful and happy she is that he’s still here. And she tells him this, on loop, until she doesn’t even have to consciously think about sending it. When she eventually calms down, he pulls back, cups her face, and lightly kisses her lips, barely a touch. But it’s enough to sink deep under her skin.

 _Are you hurt?_ He shakes his head, but there is a nasty gash on his side, a red stain continuing to spread on his white kurta. When she presses her hand to it, he winces, letting out a pained sound, and she steps back, drops of his blood on her hand. Zafar shakes his head again, a bit disoriented, and pulls her back in against his other side.

**I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just need you close to me. Just need you.**

And she wraps her arms around his torso, careful to avoid his wound, and tucks her head under his chin.

 _What do we do now?_ she asks after a while. He gently guides her head back to look up at him and tucks her loose hair behind her ear.

**We reach Amritsar, safe and sound. We find your family, your father, your sisters. We tell them everything, who I am, who I am to you, who we are to each other. I will win your sisters over with my smile and my dashing good looks, and I will win your father over with my deep adoration for and loyalty to you.**

**We make a life together. I will find another blacksmith’s shop, and you will write news articles, or teach music and dance, or anything else your heart desires. We marry in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by all those who love us. We have children with your grace and my wit and your eyes. We watch them grow up and change the world. We watch the world change. We watch India split into pieces, cities and towns roped off by language and religion and caste. We will be unable to stop it. We will be single grains in the sands of time, helpless to the ebb and flow of the waves as life carries us through its rocky waters. But we will hold onto each other through it all. We will never stop believing each other, seeing the best in each other. We will be steady, present, lift each other high. We will love each other, in spite of all that has happened to get us here and all that will happen. The one thing constant, for the rest of our lives, will be my love for you and your love for me. Permanent, immovable, everlasting.**

She will not let herself cry again. But the word _Forever_ repeats in her head, and he nods, smiling, his eyes shining. And she kisses him with everything in her, all the love, all the fear, all the pain, all the hope. All of the good things and the bad things that she will share with him, that he will share with her, and they will love each other anyway, undeterred, until the end of time.

_I love you, Zafar, my Juno._

**I love you, Roop, my Premika.**

And she can’t kiss him anymore with her smile stretching so wide across her face it makes her cheeks hurt. So they bury themselves in each other again, intertwined, for eternity, as the train speeds along and a new day arrives in Amritsar, full of hope, full of promise, full of opportunity, and for Roop and Zafar, full of nothing but love.

**Author's Note:**

> 117 pages on Google Docs and almost 50,000 words. This is my magnum opus. This is my legacy. This is probably the thing I’m most proud of ever. So please leave comments and kudos if you liked it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


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